beating
down the burning fences drowned all other sounds. At this moment Tom was
standing on a cart, passing up the buckets to Carl. Cully had crawled to
the ridge-pole of the tool-house to watch both sides of the threatened
roof.

The little cripple made his way slowly into the crowd nearest the
sheltered side of the tool-house, pulling at the men's coats, pleading
with them to save his goat, his Stumpy.

On this side was a door opening into a room where the chains were kept.
From it rose a short flight of six or seven steps leading to the loft.
This loft had two big doors--one closed, nearest the fire, and the other
wide open, fronting the house. When the roof of the burning stable fell,
the wisps of straw in the cracks of the closed door burst into flame.

Within three feet of this blazing mass, shivering with fear, tugging
at his rope, his eyes bursting from his head, stood Stumpy, his piteous
bleatings unheard in the surrounding roar. A child's head appeared above
the floor, followed by a cry of joy as the boy flung himself upon the
straining rope. The next instant a half-frenzied goat sprang through the
open door and landed in the yard below in the midst of the startled men
and women.

Tom was on the cart when she saw this streak of light flash out of the
darkness of the loft door and disappear. Her eyes instinctively turned
to look at Patsy in his place on the porch. Then a cry of horror burst
from the crowd, silenced instantly as a piercing shriek filled the air.

"My God! It's me Patsy!"

Bareheaded in the open doorway of the now blazing loft, a silhouette
against the flame, his little white gown reaching to his knees, his
crutch gone, the stifling smoke rolling out in great whirls above his
head, stood the cripple!

Tom hurled herself into the crowd, knocking the men out of her way,
and ran towards the chain room door. At this instant a man in his
shirt-sleeves dropped from the smoking roof, sprang in front of her, and
caught her in his arms.

"No, not you go; Carl go!" he said in a firm voice, holding her fast.

Before she could speak he snatched a handkerchief from a woman's neck,
plunged it into the water of the horse-trough, bound it about his
head, dashed up the short flight of steps, and crawled toward the
terror-stricken child. There was a quick clutch, a bound back, and the
smoke rolled over them, shutting man and child from view.

The crowd held their breath as it waited. A man with his ha