some doors he paused long enough to pound with his fist, awakening the
dwellers who had not heard his call, for he was Rodney Stickler, the
town constable and watchman, whose duty it was to sound the fire
alarm, and summon the bucket brigade, in the event of a blaze.

"Hurry up!" Constable Stickler shouted, as he ran from house to house,
striking with his fist on the doors of the residences where the
members of the bucket brigade lived. "The barn is 'most gone! Fire!
Fire!"

Men jumped from bed, pulled on shirts, trousers, and shoes or boots,
and thus scantily attired, rushed forth to do battle with the flames.

In a small cottage, near the end of the village street, a lad, hearing
the midnight alarm, got up and hurried to the window. He could make
out the short, stocky form of Constable Stickler rushing about. Then,
off to the left, he could see a dull glow in the sky. There was, also,
the smell of wood burning.

"What is it, Herbert?" asked a woman's voice from another room.

"Fire, mother," replied Herbert Dare. "Mr. Stickler is giving the
alarm."

"Whose place is it? I hope it isn't around here. Oh! fire is a
dreadful thing! Where is it, Herbert?" And Mrs. Dare put on a
dressing-gown and came into her son's room.

"I think he said it was Mr. Stimson's barn, mother. I can see a blaze
over in that direction."