know if ever there's a fire in the town!" Just as he said this, Roscoe
gave a cry and pointed.

We all turned, and saw a sight that made Ruth Devlin cover her face with
her hands and Mrs. Falchion stand horror-stricken. There, coming down
the cable with the speed of lightning, was the cage. In it was a man--
Phil Boldrick. With a cry and a smothered oath, Mr. Devlin sprang
towards the machinery, Roscoe with him. There was nobody near it, but
they saw a boy whose duty it was that night to manage the cable, running
towards it. Roscoe was the first to reach the lever; but it was too
late. He partially stopped the cage, but only partially. It came with
a dull, sickening thud to the ground, and Phil Boldrick--Phil Boldrick's
broken, battered body--was thrown out.

A few minutes later Boldrick was lying in Mr. Devlin's office.

Ill luck for Viking in the hour of her success. Phil's shattered hulk is
drifting. The masts have gone by the board, the pilot from the captain's
side. Only the man's "unconquerable soul" is on the bridge, watching the
craft dip at the bow till the waters, their sport out, should hugely
swallow it.

We were all gathered round. Phil had asked to see the lad who, by
neglecting the machinery for a moment, had wrecked his life. "My boy,"
he said, "you played an ugly game. It was a big mistake. I haven't any
grudge agen you, but be glad I'm not one that'd haunt you for your cussed
foolishness. . . . There, now, I feel better; that's off my mind!"

"If you're wanting to show remorse or anything," he continued, "there's
my friend, Mr. Roscoe, The Padre--he's all right, you understand!--Are