"Has no one told you about it?" he wondered. "Lord! I should think it would be all over the place by this time!"
He dropped into an easy chair, and sank his head wearily into his hands.
"Lord—Lord—Lord!" he muttered. Then he looked up at his wife with the smile that never failed her.
"Jim—no one was killed?"
"Oh, no, dear! No, I'll tell you." He came over and sat beside her on the bed, patting her hand. The two women watched him with tense, absorbed faces.
"When I got there," said the doctor, slowly, "there was quite a crowd—the lower story of the mill was all aflame—and the firemen were keeping the people back. They'd a ladder up at the second story and firemen were pitching things out of the windows as fast as they could—chairs, rugs, pillows, and so on. Finally the last man came out, smoke coming after him—it was quick work! Now, remember, dear, no one was killed—" he stopped to pat his wife's hand reassuringly. "Well, just then, at the third-story windows—it seems the laundress has children—"
"Children!" gasped Miss Ives. "Oh, NO!"
"Yes, four of 'em—the oldest a little fellow of ten, had the baby in his arms—." The doctor stopped.
"Go ON, Jim!"
"Well, they put the ladder back again, but the sill was aflame then. No use! Just then the mother and father—poor souls—arrived. They'd been at a dance in the village. The woman screamed—"