overhead, which would have crushed
the breath out of Titans. Fragments of looms, shafts, and pillars were
in heaps about. Some one whom she could not see was dying just behind
her. A little girl who worked in her room--a mere child--was crying,
between her groans, for her mother. Del Ivory sat in a little open
space, cushioned about with reels of cotton; she had a shallow gash upon
her cheek; she was wringing her hands. They were at work from the
outside, sawing entrances through the labyrinth of planks. A dead woman
lay close by, and Sene saw them draw her out. It was Meg Match. One of
the pretty Irish girls was crushed quite out of sight; only one hand was
free; she moved it feebly. They could hear her calling for Jimmy
Mahoney, Jimmy Mahoney! and would they be sure and give him back the
handkerchief? Poor Jimmy Mahoney! By and by she called no more; and in a
little while the hand was still. On the other side of the slanted
flooring some one prayed aloud. She had a little baby at home. She was
asking God to take care of it for her. "For Christ's sake," she said.
Sene listened long for the Amen, but it was never spoken. Beyond, they
dug a man out from under a dead body, unhurt. He crawled to his feet,
and broke into furious blasphemies.

As consciousness came fully, agony grew. Sene shut her lips and folded
her bleeding hands together, and uttered no cry. Del did screaming
enough for two, she thought. She pondered things, calmly as the night
deepened, and the words that the workers outside were saying came
brokenly to her. Her hurt, she knew, was not unto death; but it must be
cared for before very long; how far could she support this slow bleeding
away? And what were the chances that they could hew their way to her
without crushing her?

She thought of her father, of Dick; of the bright little kitchen and
supper-table set for three; of the song that she had sung in the flush
of the morning. Life--even her life--grew sweet, now that it was
slipping from her.

Del cried presently, that they were cutting them out. The glare of the
bonfires struck through an opening; saws and axes flashed; voices grew
distinct.

"They never can get at me," said Sene. "I must be able to crawl. If you
could get some of those bricks off of my feet, Del!"

Del took off two or three in a frightened way; then, seeing the blood on
them, sat down and cried.

A Scotch girl, with one arm shattered, crept up and removed the pile,
then fainte