lanting his ladder against the third
story. He's bound to go. He'll not get any farther than the second,
anyway."

"Where are the Montagues?" shouted Mr. Morris. "Has any one seen the
Montagues?"

"Mr. Morris! Mr. Morris!" said a frightened voice, and young Charlie
Montague pressed through the people to us. "Where's papa?"

"I don't know. Where did you leave him?" said Mr. Morris, taking his
hand and drawing him closer to him. "I was sleeping in his room," said
the boy, "and a man knocked at the door and said, 'Hotel on fire. Five
minutes to dress and get out,' and papa told me to put on my clothes and
go downstairs, and he ran up to mamma."

"Where was she?" asked Mr. Morris, quickly.

"On the fourth flat. She and her maid Blanche were up there. You know,
mamma hasn't been well and couldn't sleep, and our room was so noisy
that she moved upstairs where it was quiet." Mr. Morris gave a kind
of groan. "Oh I'm so hot, and there's such a dreadful noise," said the
little boy, bursting into tears, "and I want mamma." Mr. Morris soothed
him as best he could, and drew him a little to the edge of the crowd.

While he was doing this, there was a piercing cry. I could not see
the person making it, but I knew it was the Italian's voice. He was
screaming, in broken English that the fire was spreading to the stables,
and his animals would be burned. Would no one help him to get his
animals out? There was a great deal of confused language. Some voices
shouted, "Look after the people first. Let the animals go." And others
said, "For shame. Get the horses out." But no one seemed to do anything,
for the Italian went on crying for help. I heard a number of people who
were standing near us say that it had just been found out that several
persons who had been sleeping in the top of the hotel had not got out.
They said that at one of the top windows a poor housemaid was shrieking
for help. Here in the street we could see no one at the upper windows,
for smoke was pouring from them.

The air was very hot and heavy and I didn't wonder that Charlie Montague
felt ill. He would have fallen on the ground if Mr. Morris hadn't taken
him in his arms, and carried him out of the crowd. He put him down on
the brick sidewalk, and unfastened his little shirt, and left me to
watch him, while he held his hands under a leak in a hose that was
fastened to a hydrant near us. He got enough water to dash on Charlie's
face and breast, and then seeing tha