"There's flames burstin' out o' the winders," she said. "I wish as the firemen 'ud come."
The children clung to one another. Just then, above the roar of the flames and the screams of the people, something else was distinctly audible. The fast approach of horses; the gallant figures of men in brass helmets: the brave firemen—members of the noblest brigade in the world—were on the spot.
"It's hall right," said Connie. "They've come. Don't yer be a bit frightened, Ronnie; we'll soon be out o' this. You ax Giles w'en you see him wot 'e thinks o' firemen. 'Es father were one. Oh, there's no fear now that they've come!"
She pressed close to the window and put out her head and shoulders. Ronald did likewise. The men out in the street were acting promptly. The hose were brought to bear on the increasing flames. But all to no purpose; the house was past saving. Was any one within?
"No," said a woman down in the crowd; "hevery soul is out, even to my last biby—bless him!"
She gave a hysterical cry, and sat down on a neighboring doorstep.
But the firemen of the London Brigade are very careful to ascertain for themselves whether there is any likelihood of loss of life.
"Has any one come down from the top floor?" asked a tall young man. He had a splendid figure—broad, square shoulders, and a light and athletic frame—which showed at once that he was the very best possible sort of fireman.
Just then the flames burst out more brightly than ever, and Connie, with her fair hair surrounding her little face, and Ronald clinging to her hand, were both distinctly seen.
"My God!" cried the firemen, "there are children up there. Put the escape up at once—don't lose an instant—I am going up to them."