"I do detest a fireman above all men!" ejaculated May, emphatically, as
Hal left the house to go down town and procure his equipment. Little did
either of them dream what was to be the scene of his first fire.

May's too sound slumbers were disturbed about twelve o'clock that night
by a confused rush of sounds, cries, shrieks, crackling beams and
falling timbers. She wrapped her dressing-gown around her, and rushed to
the door. Unclasping the bolts, she threw it open, but hastily closed it
again, for smoke and flame rushed in, almost suffocating her.

"O, God, save me!" she murmured, huskily, flying to the window, only to
gaze upon a scene which sent dismay to her heart. Clouds of flame and
smoke enveloped everything. For a moment the bursting mass of fire was
stayed by a huge stream of water, and she caught a glimpse of the crowd
below.

There were men, boys, engines, ladders, furniture, all heaped together
in confusion; but the smoke and flame rolled forth with renewed anger
after their momentary check, and all was blank again. She cried for
help, but her voice was lost in the universal din. The heat became
intense, the flame knocked at her very door to demand admittance; she
heard its fiery tongue flap against the panels, a few moments more and
its scorching arms would clasp her in their embrace of death. She knelt
one moment, her soul was in that prayer; she rushed again with almost
hopeless agony to the window. O, joy! and yet how terrible! That moment
when the flame relaxed to gain new energy, a fireman had discovered her
frail form in the glare of the light. He did not hesitate an instant;
his soul was made of such stern stuff as common minds cannot appreciate.
He raised the first ladder within his reach against the wall--a