ain't had many fires ever in Smyrna, but the Ancients take
the leadin' rank in all social events, and our dances and banquets
are patronized by the best."

"It's an awful big honor, Aaron," gasped his wife. She turned to the
committee. "The Cap'n hasn't been feelin' well, gentlemen, and this
honor has kind of overcome him. But I know he appreciates it. My own
father was foreman once, and it's a wonderful thing to think that
my husband is now."

"'Tain't likely that the Ancients will ever forgit them dinners we
had here, Mis' Sproul," remarked one of the men, 'suffling' the
moisture at the corners of his mouth.

"Seein' that you ain't well, we don't expect no speech, Cap'n," said
Murray, laying the documents upon Sproul's knee. "I see that the
honor has overcome you, as it nat'rally might any man. We will now
take our leave with a very good-day, and wishin' you all of the best,
yours truly, and so forth." He backed away, and the others rose.

"Pass through the kitchen, gentlemen," said Mrs. Sproul, eagerly.
"I will set out a treat." They trudged that way with deep bows at
the threshold to their newly drafted foreman, who still glared at
them speechlessly.

When Mrs. Sproul returned at length, still fluttering in her
excitement, he was reading the little pamphlet that had been left
with him, a brick-red color slowly crawling up the back of his neck.

"Just think of it for an honor, Aaron," she stammered, "and you here
in town only such a little while! Oh, I am so proud of you! Mr. Murray
brought the things in his team and left them on the piazza. I'll run
and get them."

She spread them on the sitting-room floor, kneeling before him like
a priestess offering sacrifice. With his thumb in the pamphlet, he
stared at the array.

There was a battered leather hat with a broad apron, or scoop, behind
to protect the back. On a faded red shield above the visor was the
word "Foreman." There were two equally battered leather buckets.
There was a dented speaking-trumpet. These the Cap'n dismissed one
by one with an impatient scowl. But he kicked at one object with his
well foot.

"What's that infernal thing?" he demanded.

"A bed-wrench, Aaron. It's to take apart corded beds so as to get
them out of houses that are on fire. There aren't hardly any corded
beds now, of course, but it's a very old association that you're
foreman of, and the members keep the old things. It's awfully nice
to do so, I think. It's like keepin