The back yards were full of firemen, and excited people hung from the windows of opposite buildings. Bird tried to raise the trap in the floor door, but the boxes of frozen earth that had held the morning-glories bore it down, making it useless, and the one below was hopelessly heaped with litter.
Would nobody see her? Billy clung to her, sobbing pitifully, for he was lightly covered, and shivered with cold as well as fear. The window-frame inside was catching, and heat also came up from below. Was this the end? Must the wild bird die in her cage?
Suddenly a great shout arose in the rear; people had seen and were pointing them out. Up came the firemen, climbing, clinging, battering down the obstructions before them. Ah, those wonderful firemen that keep our faith in old-time valour!
A moment more, and an axe struck open the prisoned trap-door, a head came through, and a voice cried, “Good God, it’s Bird and little Billy!”
“Dave, my fireman!” sobbed the boy, flinging himself into the strong arms. “Take him,” commanded Bird, as the man hesitated an instant; “I can follow.” Down the ladder they went step by step until the flames from the lower story crept through and stopped them again, and the slender fire ladder, held by strong arms, shot up to them, and Dave’s mate grasped Bird and carried her down to safety. Then the firemen cheered, and tears rolled down Big Dave’s cheeks unchecked.
Kind, if rough, people took them in and warmed and fed them, and more kind people guided Mrs. O’More to them when she rushed frantically home. But little Billy had suffered a nervous shock, and lay there moaning and seeming to think that the fire still pursued him.
“He will need great care and nursing to pull him through, for he is naturally delicate,” said the doctor the next day when they had moved into a couple of furnished rooms that were rented to Mrs. O’More by a friend in a near-by street until she could pull herself together, as they had lost everything. “He must either go to a hospital or have a nurse,” continued the doctor, gravely. But Mrs. O’More could not be made to see it.
“His father’d never forgive me if I put him out o’ me hands,” she said; “he’ll pick up from the fright after a bit, and what with John away, and never saving a cent of cash no more than the boys, and the business all burned out along with us, I’ve not money in hand for the wasting on nurses.”
Bird knew better,—knew that Billy was very sick, and she could not let him die so. Ah! the keepsake, the precious coin! Now was the time to spend it, for there could be no greater necessity than this. What if it was not enough? Even if it was not much, it might do until her uncle got back, and then she knew Billy would have care if his father begged in the street for it.
Going away in a corner, she unfastened the silver chain and detached the little bag from it. With difficulty she ripped the thong stitches, but instead of a coin, out of many wrappings fell a slender band of gold set with one large diamond. As she turned the ring over in surprise, some letters within caught her eye—“Bertha Rawley, from her godfather, J. S.”