the surf on the outer beach were plainly to be heard. Also there was the
clicking sound of oars in row-locks.

"Somebody is comin' over from the station," gasped Captain Jerry. "Don't
run so, Eri. It's too dark. I've pretty nigh broke my neck already."

They passed the lily pond, where the frogs had long since adjourned
their concert and gone to bed, dodged through the yard of the tightly
shuttered summer hotel, and came out at the corner of the road, having
saved some distance by the "short-cut."

"That ain't Weeks's store," declared Captain Perez, who was in the lead.
"It's Web Saunders's place; that's what it is."

Captain Eri paused and looked over to the left in the direction of the
Baxter homestead. The light in the window was still burning.

They turned into the "main road" at a dog trot and became part of a
crowd of oddly dressed people, all running in the same direction.

"Web's place, ain't it?" asked Eri of Seth Wingate, who was lumbering
along with a wooden bucket in one hand and the pitcher of his wife's
best washstand set in the other.

"Yes," breathlessly answered Mr. Wingate, "and it's a goner, they tell
me. Every man's got to do his part if they're going to save it. I allers
said we ought to have a fire department in this town."

Considering that Seth had, for the past eight years, persistently
opposed in town-meeting any attempt to purchase a hand engine, this was