the flames and forced to
abandon their heroic task. No one could even guess the extent of the
death roll. From the extreme rapidity with which the fire had taken
hold and spread, it was feared that many must have perished under the
wreckage, but their names could not be ascertained until the news of the
disaster was spread over the country, and their friends reported them as
missing.

Twenty-four hours later Miss Barbara Sherbourne sat in the parlour of
the Red Lion Hotel at Greenfield. She had remained there partly because
she was suffering greatly from shock, and partly because she felt
responsible for the welfare of the little child whom she had been able
to save. The account of its rescue was circulated in all the morning
papers, so she expected that before long some relation would arrive to
claim it. The woman who had accompanied it was not among the list of the
rescued, and Miss Barbara shuddered afresh at the remembrance of the
burning carriages.

"It's a bonnie bairn, too, and takes wonderful notice," said Martha,
Miss Sherbourne's faithful maid, for whom she had telegraphed. "Those to
whom it belongs will be crazy with joy to find it safe. Dear, dear! To
think its poor mother has gone, and to such an awful death!"

The baby girl was indeed the heroine of the hour. The story of her
wonderful escape appealed to everybody; newspaper reporters took
snapshots of her, and many people begged to be allowed to see her out of
sheer curiosity or interest. So far, though she had been interviewed
almost continuously from early morning, not one among the numbers who
visited her recognized her in the least. Fortunately she was of a
friendly disposition, and though she had had one or two good cries, she
seemed fairly content to be nursed by strangers, and took readily to the
bottle that was procured for her. At about six o'clock Miss Barbara and
Martha sat alone with her in the inn parlour. The afternoon train had
departed, bearing with it most of yesterday's sufferers and their
friends, so it was hardly to be expected that any more visitors would
arrive that evening. The baby sat on Miss Barbara's knee, industriously
exercising the only two wee teeth it possessed upon an ivory needlecase
supplied from Martha's pocket. Outside the light was fading, and rain
was beginning to fall, so the bright fire in the grate was the more
attractive.

"I'm glad we didn't attempt to go home to-night, Martha," said Miss
Sherbourne. "I ex