"Come here, Molly," said Sene. "Can you crawl around?"
Molly crawled around.
"Put your head in my lap, and your arms about my waist, and I will put my hands in yours,—so. There! I guess that's better."
But they had not given them up yet. In the still unburnt rubbish at the right, some one had wrenched an opening within a foot of Sene's face. They clawed at the solid iron pintless like savage things. A fireman fainted in the glow.
"Give it up!" cried the crowd from behind. "It can't be done! Fall back!"—then hushed, awestruck.
An old man was crawling along upon his hands and knees over the heated bricks. He was a very old man. His gray hair blew about in the wind.
"I want my little gal!" he said. "Can't anybody tell me where to find my little gal?"
A rough-looking young fellow pointed in perfect silence through the smoke.
"I'll have her out yet. I'm an old man, but I can help. She's my little gal, ye see. Hand me that there dipper of water; it'll keep her from choking, may be. Now! Keep cheery, Sene! Your old father'll get ye out. Keep up good heart, child! That's it!"
"It's no use, father. Don't feel bad, father. I don't mind it very much."