One night, after the inn was closed and most of the inhabitants of Yelton had gone to rest, the alarming cry of "Fire!" was heard. And men, women, and children dressed with all speed, and rushed out of doors exclaiming, questioning, and running against each other in their excitement and hurry.
"Fire! Fire! Oh, help; for mercy's sake, help my father!"
It was the lame girl who had raised the alarm, and who now stood outside Silas Moyle's shop, her face livid with terror. She managed somehow to explain that it was her home that was on fire, and that her father, on his return from the "Crab and Cockle," had clutched at the table-cloth which had covered the kitchen table, and had thus upset the lamp and caused the conflagration.
On hearing this, there was a general rush in the direction of the Pethericks' cottage, but Silas Moyle, who had now arrived upon the scene, insisted upon Salome's staying with his wife, and lingered to inquire what had become of Josiah.
"He's at home," Salome wailed. "I couldn't get him to leave; he was pouring buckets of water on the fire; but oh! He couldn't put it out, it was spreading terribly. Please, Mr. Moyle, do go and see that he's all right. He isn't sober, and oh, I'm so afraid for him."
"There, there, don't you take on," said Mrs. Moyle, kindly. "Silas'll see to Josiah. Come you in, my dear," and the good woman led Salome into the parlour behind the shop and placed her in an easy-chair.
Meanwhile, willing hands were helping Josiah in his attempts to put out the fire. But assistance proved of no avail, and in less than two hours the Pethericks' cottage was actually gutted, and all their possessions had been burnt. It had been impossible to save anything, for the woodwork of the cottage being old, and the roof of thatch, the flames had spread with great rapidity. Daybreak found Josiah, sober enough now, staring disconsolately at the four stone walls which was the only portion of his home that was left intact. He was feeling inexpressibly shocked, for his furniture was not insured, and he realised that he and his little daughter had nothing in the world but the clothes they were wearing. What was he to do? He could not tell, and he groaned in despair, as he looked at the smoking ruins, and the erstwhile trim garden, now spoilt by the trampling of many feet.
"This is a bad business, Petherick."
Turning at the sound of a voice addressing him, he saw Mr. Amyatt. The Vicar had been there some time, but Josiah had not noticed him amongst the rest.
"Ay," was the gloomy response. "I'm ruined—that's what I am."