ell again!"

Bel was picking up the tea-things for washing. She set down the
little pile which she had gathered, went to the window, and drew up
the blind.

"My gracious! And there's the fire!"

It shone up, red, into the sky, from over the tall roofs.

Ten strokes from the deep, deliberate bells.

"There comes Miss Smalley, todillating up to see," said Bel,
excitedly.

"And the people are just _rushing_ along Tremont Street!"

"_Can_ you see? asked Miss Smalley, bustling in like the last
little belated hen at feeding-time, with a look on all sides at once
to discover where the corn might be.

"_Isn't_ it big, O?" And she stood up, tiptoe, by the window, as if
that would make any comparative difference between her height and
that of Hotel Devereux, across the square; or as if she could reach
up farther with her eyes after the great flashes that streamed into
the heavens.

Again the smiting clang,--repeated, solemn, exact. No flurry in
those measured sounds, although their continuance tolled out a
city's doom.

Twice twelve.

"There goes Mr. Sparrow," said the music mistress, as the
watchmaker's light, unequal hop came over the stairs. "I suppose he
can see from his window pretty near where it is."

A slight, dull color came up into the angles of the little lady's
face, as she alluded to the upper lodger's room, for there was a
tacit impression in the house--and she knew it--that if Miss Smalley
and Mr. Sparrow had been thrown together earlier in life, it would
have been very suitable; and that even now it might not be
altogether too late.

Another step went springing down. Bel knew that, but she said
nothing.

"Don't you think we might go out to the end of the street and see?"
suggested Miss Smalley.

Bel had on hat and waterproof in a moment.

"Don't you stir, Auntie, to catch cold, now! We'll be back
directly."

Miss Smalley was already in her room below, snatching up hood and
shawl.

Down the Place they went, and on, out into the broad street.
Everybody was running one way,--northward. They followed, hurrying
toward the great light, glowing and flashing before them.

From every westward avenue came more men, speeding in ever
thickening lines verging to one centre. Like streams into a river
channel, they poured around the corners into Essex Street, at last,
filling it from wall to wall,--a human torrent.

"This is as far as we can go," Miss Smalley said, stopping in one of
the doorways o