tended
directly down into the ground. He noticed also that it gave out
extraordinarily little heat. The morning was not exceptionally cold, yet
he stood within twenty feet of the fire without discomfort.

I was on the staff of the Boston _Observer_ at this time. I reached
Brookline about noon of the 11th of November, and went directly to the
field where the fire was burning. Nearly a thousand people were there,
watching.

By daylight the fire still held its green and red color, although its
light was much less intense. It held its characteristic shape. Though
clearly definable, under the rays of the sun it became quite transparent.
Looking through it, I could see plainly the crowd of people on the farther
side of the field. The effect was similar to looking through a faintly
tinted glass, except that now I noticed that the light had a sort of
crawling motion, like the particles of a heavy fog. The fire came from a
hole in the ground; by daylight now the hole could be seen plainly.

For some moments I stood silent, awestruck by this extraordinary
spectacle. Then a man standing beside me remarked that there was no smoke.
I had not thought of that before, but it was true--indeed, the fire
appeared phosphorescent.

"Let's get up closer," said the man beside me.

Together we walked to within ten feet of the outer edge of the fire. We
could feel its heat now, although it was not uncomfortable except when it
beat directly on our faces. Standing so close, we could see down into the
hole from which the light emanated.

Lying at the bottom of the hole, perhaps ten feet below the surface, I saw
the jagged top of an enormous gray sphere, burned and pitted. This was the
meteor--nearly thirty feet in diameter--that in its fall had buried itself
deep in the loam of the field.

As we stood there looking down into the hole some one across from us
tossed in a ball of paper. It seemed to hang poised a moment, then it
shriveled up, turned black, and floated slowly down until it rested on top
of the sphere.

Some one else threw a block of wood about a foot long into the hole. I
could see it as it struck the top of the sphere. It lay there an instant;
then it, too, turned black and charred, but it did not burst into flame.

The man beside me plucked at my sleeve. "Why don't it burn?" he asked.

I shook myself loose.

"How should I know?" I answered impatiently.

I found myself trembling all over with an unreasoning fear, for th