lang, and go to
Sunday-school regularly, and not shoot craps any more behind the barn
with boys his father had expressed a wish not to have around the place.
In after years Hock knew what made him have these good impulses while
he listened to Archie's playing. He knew that a great and beautiful
art--the art of music--was inborn in his chum; that the wild,
melancholy voice of the violin was bringing out the best in them both.

* * * * * * * *

It was summer time. The little Canadian city where they lived, which
stretched its length along the borders of the great lake, became a very
popular resort for holiday makers, and many Southerners flocked to the
two large hotels, seeking the cooler air of the North. Ball and tennis
matches and regattas made the little city very gay, and the season was
swinging at its height when one night Hock's burly voice heralded his
legs through the window of the Anderson parlor. Evidently he was greatly
excited, for he shouted at the top of his lungs that the east end
factory was on fire, with a dozen operators cut off from the stairs and
elevators, and that his father, who was foreman, was begging on all
sides for volunteers to rescue the people from the top story. In the
twinkling of an eye Hock was off again with crowds of running men and
boys; the fire engines went clanging past with the rattle and roar of
galloping horses and shouting men. Never had Archie Anderson felt his
frailty as he felt it at this moment. The very news made him almost
faint, but he started to run with the crowd until his shortening breath
and incessant coughing compelled him to return home, where he flung
himself down on the doorstep, burying his throbbing forehead in his
hands and saying: "Oh! I'm no good! I can never hope to be a man! I'm
not even a boy! I seem to myself like a baby!"

Late at night his father and brothers returned, all begrimed with soot
and ashes. They had worked valiantly with the firemen and rescuers,
saving life after life. But with all their courage and pluck they could
not save big Tom Morris, who perished in the flames just because he
insisted upon others and weaker ones being saved first.

For days the town was plunged in gloom. Everyone liked Tom Morris,
and everyone's heart ached for his little widow and her three small
children, left penniless. Then the only pleasant thing in connection
with the disaster occurred. The kindly visitors at the summer hotels
began getting up