"Is he living?" shouted his nephew.
"Yes," replied the parson, "though I doubt if he can last long. We must get him away to your house as soon as possible."
"But the box, Parson; did you save it?" questioned Tom.
"No, I never thought about it, and, besides, I did not know where it was."
At this Billy opened his faded eyes, and fixed them upon his nephew's face. He tried to speak, but his voice was thick and his words were unintelligible.
"Where's the box?" shouted Tom.
Again the old man endeavoured to say something. Failing in this he made an effort to rise. The struggle was too much for him, and with a cry he sank back upon the snow, dead.
By this time several neighbours had arrived, and stood near with a look of awe upon their rugged faces. Nellie drew her father aside, knowing full well that his care was needed no longer.
"Come," she said, "we had better go home, These men will do the rest. You have done your part."
He followed her along the little path leading to the main road. Reaching this she took him by the arm and supported his steps, which were now over-feeble. Slowly and feelingly, he told the story of the night. He had found the old man in a bad condition, and cold from the lack of a good fire. Filling the stove with a liberal supply of wood, and making Billy as comfortable as the circumstances would permit, he had sat down to watch his charge. Ere long the sick man grew much worse. Then the chimney had caught fire. The bricks must have been loose somewhere, which allowed the flames to pour through into the dry woodwork overhead, which was soon converted into a blazing mass. Seeing that nothing could be done to save the building Mr. Westmore was forced to carry Billy, sick though he was, out of the house. He tried to reach the barn, but his strength failed, so he was forced to lay his burden upon the snow, and wrap his great-coat around the helpless man.