nce upwards what was going on.

"Fred," said one to the other in a low voice, "_He'll_ save her, or
there'll be a man less in the brigade to-night. He never does anything
by halves. Whatever he undertakes he does _well_. Depend on't, that
Harry Thorogood will save that woman if she can be saved at all."

As he spoke Harry was seen emerging above the smoke, but when he reached
the top of the highest ladder he was fully six feet below the spot where
the woman knelt.

"Come! girl, come!" he shouted, and held out his arms.

The terrified creature hesitated. She was afraid. She doubted the
strength of the escape--the power of the man.

"Come! come!" again he shouted.

She obeyed, but came against the fireman with such force that the round
of the ladder on which he stood gave way, and both were seen to go
crashing downwards, while something like a mighty groan or cry rose from
the multitude below. It was changed, however, into a wild cheer when
Harry was seen to have caught the head of the escape, and arrested his
fall, with one powerful hand, while, with the other, he still grasped
the woman.

"God favours them," said a voice in the crowd, as a gust of wind for a
few seconds drove smoke and flames aside.

Our bold fireman seized the opportunity, got the woman into the shoot,
or canvas bag under the lowest ladder, and slid with her in safety to
the ground.

The pen may describe, but it cannot convey a just idea of the thrilling
cheers that greeted the rescued woman as she was received at the bottom
of the escape, or the shouts of applause and congratulation that greeted
Harry Thorogood as he emerged from the same, burnt, bleeding, scraped,
scarred, and blackened, but not seriously injured, and with a pleasant
smile upon his dirty face.

CHAPTER FIVE.

We turn now to a battlefield, but we won't affect to believe that the
reader does not know who is one of the chief heroes of that field.

Robert Thorogood is his name. Bob does not look very heroic, however,
when we introduce him, for he is sound asleep with his mouth open, his
legs sprawling, his eyes tight shut, his bed the ground, his pillow the
root of a tree, and his curtains the branches thereof. The only warlike
point about Bob is the trumpet-sound that issues from his upturned nose.

Bob's sentiments about soldiering are queer. His comrades laugh at him
a good deal about them, but they never scoff, for Bob is strong and full
of fire; besides