had watched a few days before--now on the
sparkling, fizzing grains of powder upon the floor, tugged, and
wriggled, and pulled at the master mechanic.

Inch by inch, Noodles won Regan to safety--and then, on his hands and
knees, he went back to sweep the grains away from the edge of the kegs.
They burnt his hands as he brushed them along the floor, and he moaned
with the pain between his screams for aid. It was hot in the narrow
place, so narrow that the breath of flame swept his face from the
case--but there was still some powder on the floor to brush back out of
the way, little heaps of it. Weak, and swaying on his knees, Noodles
brushed at it desperately. It seemed to spurt into his face, and he
couldn't breathe any more, and he couldn't see, and his head was
swirling around queerly. He staggered to his feet as there came a rush
of men, and Clarihue, the turner, with the night crew of the roundhouse
came racing up the shed.

"Good God, what's this!" cried Clarihue.

"It's--it's a fire," said Noodles, with a sob--and fell into Clarihue's
arms.

They told Regan about it the next day when they had got his head
patched up and his arm set. Regan didn't say very much as he lay in
his bed, but he asked somebody to go to Maguire's and ask old Bill to
come down.

And an hour later Maguire entered the room--but he halted a good yard
away from the foot of Regan's bed.

"Yez sint for me, Regan," observed the little hostler, in noncommittal,
far-away tones.

"I did, Maguire," said Regan diplomatically. "Things haven't been
going as smooth as they might have over in the roundhouse since you
left, and I want you to come back. What do you say?"

"'Tis not fwhat _I_ say," said Maguire, and he moved no nearer to the
bed. "'Tis whether yez unsay fwhat yez said yersilf. Do yez take ut
back, Regan?"

"I do," said Regan in grave tones--but his hand reached up to help the
bandages hide his grin. "I take it all back, Maguire--every word of
it."

"Thot's all right, thin," said the little hostler, not arrogantly, but
as one justified. "I'm sorry to see yez are sick, Regan, an' I'm glad
to see yez are better--but did I not warn yez, Regan? 'Twas the wrath
av God, Regan, thot's the cause av this."

"Mabbe," said Regan softly. "Mabbe--but to my thinking 'twas the devil
and all his works."

"Fwhat's thot?" inquired Maguire, bending forward. "I didn't catch
fwhat yez said, Regan."

"I said," said Regan, choking a l