That morning, when Raymond Ferguson entered the breakfast-room rather
later than usual, he found his father reading a paragraph in the Sun
with every appearance of surprise.

"What is it, papa?" asked Raymond.

"Read that!"

Raymond took the paper, and his eye was drawn to some conspicuous
headlines.

A NARROW ESCAPE FROM A TERRIBLE DEATH!

A BROKER'S DAUGHTER IN FLAMES!

SAVED BY A BOY'S HEROISM!

A TRAGIC SCENE AT A NEW YEAR'S PARTY!

"Why, it's Rose Wainwright!" said Raymond excitedly. "Whom do you think
I saw on his way to the party last evening?"

"Fred Fenton."

"How did you hear it?" asked Raymond in surprise.

"Read the account and you will understand."

This is what Raymond read:

Last evening a terrible tragedy came near being enacted at the house of
the well-known broker, John Wainwright. The occasion was a juvenile
party given by his little daughter Rose, eleven years of age. One part
of the entertainment provided was a series of tableaux upon a miniature
stage at one end of the dining-room. All went well till the third
tableau, in which the young hostess took part, She incautiously
approached too near the footlights, when her white dress caught fire
and instantly blazed up. All present were spellbound, and it seemed as
if the little girl's fate was sealed. Luckily one of the young guests,
Fred Fenton, retained his coolness and presence of mind. Without an
instant's delay he sprang upon the stage, directed the little girl to
lie down, and wrapped his coat around her. Thanks to his promptitude,
she escaped with slight injuries. By the time the rest of those present
recovered from the spell of terror, Rose was saved.

We understand that the brave boy who displayed such heroic qualities
was formerly a train boy on the Erie Railroad, but is now employed in
the office of Mr. Wainwright.

Raymond read this account with lowering brow. He felt sick with
jealousy. Why had he not been lucky enough to receive an invitation to
the party, and enact the part of a deliverer? He did not ask himself
whether, if the opportunity had been afforded, he would have availed
himself of it. It is fortunate for Rose that she had Fred to depend
upon in her terrible emergency, and not Raymond Ferguson. There was
little that was heroic about him. A hero must be unselfish, and Raymond
was the incarnation of selfishness.

"Your cousin seems to have become quite a hero," said Mr. Ferguson, as
Raymond looked up from