inquiring look from Fleda.

"Not now, but before sundown, please."

As Fleda and Dennis disappeared, Ingolby looked back towards the fire.
"How good it is to see again even a sight like that," he said. "Nothing
that the eyes see is so horrible as the pictures that come to the mind
when the eyes don't see. As Dennis said, I can't get the hang of it, but
I'll try--I'll try."

The burning of Gautry's tavern had been conquered, though not before it
was a shell; and the houses on either side had been saved. Lebanon had
shown itself masterful in organization, but it had also shown that that
which makes enemies is not so deep or great a thing as that which makes
friends. Jealous, envious, narrow and bitter Manitou had been, but she
now saw Lebanon in a new light. It was a strange truth that if Lebanon
had saved the whole town of Manitou, it would not have been the same to
the people as the saving of the church. Beneath everything in Manitou--
beneath its dirt and its drunkenness, its irresponsibility and the signs
of primeval savagery which were part of its life, there was the tradition
of religion, the almost fanatical worship of that which was their master,
first and last, in spite of all--the Church. Not one of its citizens but
would have turned with horror from the man who cursed his baptism; not
one but would want the last sacrament when his time came. Lebanon had
saved the Catholic church, the temple of their faith, and in an hour was
accomplished what years had not wrought.

The fire at the church was out. A few houses had been destroyed, and
hundreds of others had been saved. The fire-brigade of Lebanon, with its
two engines, had performed prodigies of valour. The work done, the men