Dr. Orison said “It is ever thus after war.”
The woman was standing still with her arms twisted about her body, as though in mortal agony. They thought she was there advisedly to represent the realistic finishing of Mr. Bombs’ piece. But they were soon undeceived. Another cry rent the air.
“It’s Mary, the gardener’s wife! Help! help! Her house must be on fire.”
It was the cry of Adelaide Schwarmer as she ran to her assistance.
“FIRE, FIRE!” CRIED A VOICE.
“O my baby! My baby!” moaned the poor woman stumbling along toward her.
“Where is it, where?” asked Adelaide.
“Lost! Lost!” she cried, sinking down in a dead faint.
Mrs. Schwarmer divined the situation and was soon at her side. She threw her magnificent shawl over the prostrate figure. Her husband was sent for. He was in the kitchen helping the servants. They came and carried her in. Dr. Orison offered his services and the rest of the men hastened to the fire; but a stream of water was pouring down on it from the Engine House and their aid was not needed. They returned and reported that “the fire was a trifling affair.”