If Willie Duncan had played where his mother told him to play, he would not have fallen down a manhole; neither would he have had a narrow escape from losing his life by being buried in the snow.
But Willie was only four years old, and therefore not so much to blame as an older boy would have been.
The street cleaners were dumping the dirty snow from the street into a manhole, which opened into a big drain. This drain carried off the rain in summer and the snow in winter.
While the shovelers were at work, Willie toddled across the street. Before the men near the manhole could stop him, he disappeared into the opening.
“Bring a ladder!” some one shouted. But there were no ladders in that street of crowded houses.
“Turn in a fire alarm!” some one else cried—and this was quickly done.
The men knew that firemen always bring ladders, and that they perform many other duties besides putting out fires.
While they were waiting for the ladder, Frank Brown came running up. Now, Frank was only twelve years old, but he was a boy of quick wit and great presence of mind. Only the summer before, he had jumped into the river from a pier to rescue a small boy from drowning.
“Let me go down and get him out,” cried Frank to the workmen.
The men tied ropes about the daring boy and lowered him feet first into the manhole.