Running to the old woman, Jack caught her in his arms. It was an easy matter to carry her to the open air. Here he sat her down on an old horse-block which was clear of snow. She was trembling so she could not speak.
It was easily to be seen that the cottage was doomed. The village of Cedarville boasted of nothing better than an old hand engine and a bucket brigade, and to get the engine through the snow was next to impossible.
“Let us take out what furniture we can,” said Jack, and this they did, and also carried out some clothing, a lamp and a few pictures. While the building was burning a crowd of thirty or forty folks collected.
“It don’t belong to the old woman,” said one of the farmers to Jack. “It belongs to Mr. Eggers, a rich man of Ithaca. He let her live in it rent-free, because it wasn’t worth much.”
“Then the old woman didn’t lose much,” replied the young major. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Mrs. Cowen. Nobody knows much about her, except that she has a brother who lives near the head of the lake.”
The old woman was taken to the nearest cottage, and there, after the fire was at an end, Jack went to interview her.
“I’m goin’ to live with my brother now—I ain’t goin’ to live alone no more,” she murmured.
“We got out most of your furniture.”
“Twasn’t mine—it belonged to the house. The old hair trunk was mine. Did ye save that?”