"Aunt Blin, you shall come down, and take something hot, and go to bed!" exclaimed Bel, peremptorily. "We can't stay here all night. Mr. Sparrow will be back,—and everybody. I think the fire is going down. It's pretty still now. We've seen it all. Come!"
They had never a thought, any of them, of more than a block or so, burning. Of course the firemen would put it out. They always did.
"See! See!" cried the landlady. "O my sakes and sorrows!"
A huge, volcanic column of glittering sparks—of great flaming fragments—shot up and soared broad and terrible into the deep sky. A long, magnificent, shimmering, scintillant train—fire spangled with fire—swept southward like the tail of a comet, that had at last swooped down and wrapped the earth.
"The roofs have fallen in," said innocent old Miss Smalley.
"That will be the last. Now they will stop it," said Bel. "Come, Auntie!"
And after midnight, for an hour or more, the house, with the five women in it, hushed. Aunt Blin took some hot Jamaica ginger, and Bel filled a jug with boiling water, wrapped it in flannel, and tucked it into the bed at her feet. Then she gave her a spoonful of her cough-mixture, took off her own clothes, and lay down.
Still the great fire roared, and put out the stars. Still the room was red with the light of it. Aunt Blin fell asleep.
Bel lay and listened, and wondered. She would not move to get up and look again, lest she should rouse her aunt. Suddenly, she heard the boom of a great explosion. She started up.
Miss Smalley's voice sounded at the door.