“Hartville! It’s from Hartville!” flew the report.
“Hurrah for Hartville!” cheered the spectators, the thousand voices drowning the shrieks of the proud engine.
“Well,” remarked Ned. “People in the other towns must think we’re all burned.”
“But isn’t it fine in them to send help!” exclaimed Hal.
“We’d do as much for them,” responded Ned.
Scarcely had the Hartville men arrived, when from up the river echoed the deep, excited whistle of a steamboat. The crowd turned its faces that way.
“It’s the ferry Lady Rose. She’s bringing the Lynnton department!” exclaimed Hal.
Down swept the ferry, the black smoke streaming from her stacks and trailing behind her in two tossing, ever-expanding plumes; her side-wheels turning at a prodigious rate; and her deck alive with people who answered cheer with cheer.
The Lady Rose effected a hasty landing just above the bridge, and her passengers, fire-laddies and spectators, tumbled ashore. Then followed two hose-carts; and right on the heels of the men from Hartville followed the men from Lynnton, to help save the town.