EDITH at the gate could see the three boys running in the direction of the red light in the sky. Allan, in the lead, was hugging the camera under his arm. There was a sound of many feet, a murmur of excitement in the air, and distant hoarse shouts. A huge roll of black smoke drifted off to the north.
“I believe it’s the factory,” said the Doctor, at Edith’s shoulder. “Let us go too, Edith.”
Edith did not wait for a second invitation. She had been longing to follow the boys, and had hurried upstairs for her hat and was again in the hall before the Doctor had reached for his cane.
“Margaret,” called the Doctor to Mrs. Hartel, “perhaps you wish me to take you.”
“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Hartel. “I’m afraid I don’t appreciate the fun of fires. I had rather have all of you tell me about it.”
“We shall!” cried Edith from the walk.
It was as the Doctor expected. Flames had broken out in the southern wing of the factory. The eastern windows on the first floor of the wing showed an orange-red glare that made Edith think of the reflected light on window-panes when the sun is going down. The flames evidently had passed through to the second floor and were creeping eastward, though the dense masses of smoke made it difficult at times to tell precisely what parts of the building were actually burning.
The Hazenfield engines were hard at work. The ground trembled with the thump, thump, thump of the steam pumps, the black figures of the firemen scurried this way and that with many confused shouts, while the inky line of the hose twisted its way to the wing door of the factory.
It was at the wing door that some men were carrying out certain heavy cans which they placed at some distance from the burning building. These men were dripping with the hose water, the light of the flames glittering on their clothes and faces.
“Why don’t they pour the water through the windows?” cried Edith.