In the hall was a maid-servant, who was wringing¹ her hands.

 

"Where is the fire?" asked Gerald.

 

"On the third floor. Poor Mr. Nugent——"

 

"Well, where is he?"

 

"In the room where the fire broke out. He is in a faint. He will be suffocated²!"

 

Alonzo Crane was captain of the fire company in Hillsdale, and had all his wits about him.

 

"Follow me, Gerald," he said, as he dashed up-stairs.

 

He attempted to open the door of the room from the windows of which he had seen the smoke pouring, but Mr. Nugent's body was lying on the floor in such a position as to prevent the door being opened. But the two, by pushing forcibly, succeeded in getting it open. The muslin curtains of the front windows were in a blaze, and the flames had spread to the neighboring woodwork.

 

"Tear down the curtains, Gerald," said Mr. Crane. "You will soon have help. I hear the engine outside. I will attend to the old gentleman."

 

With the strength which might naturally be expected from a blacksmith, he took up the old man in his arms, and carried him down-stairs. It was none too soon. Mr. Nugent was in a faint, and was half-suffocated by the smoke. On his way Alonzo met some of the Portville firemen, whom he directed to the room. Taking the old gentleman down-stairs he laid him on a couch in the sitting-room³ and summoned the servant.

 

"Bring me a sponge and some cold water," he said.

 

They were brought.

 

He bathed the face of the old man, who presently opened his eyes and said, feebly: "Where am I?"

 

"You're in the land of the living, squire⁴," answered Crane; "but you wouldn't have been long if I hadn't taken you out of the burning room. Do you know how the fire started?"

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