As she took her seat by the window, and watched the light growing broader and redder every moment, her strong, kind features showed much more anxiety than one would expect, considering that it was not her store that was burning, nor her firemen fighting the fire. But aunt Augusta, in the city, had a curious way like that of aunt Puss up in the Maine woods, of concerning herself with other people’s troubles and trying to lighten them, with loving-kindness or with money. As she had a plentiful supply of both, her sympathy in such cases was apt to be a substantial affair, really worth counting upon—as many a poor creature, sick and in prison, could testify.
As soon as the bells rang out, a great awe fell upon the two girls. What mighty host of giants had they roused from sleep, calling hoarsely to one another over the housetops?
Pet drew closer to Bridget, and grasped her hand. Even Bridget seemed dismayed at first, but quickly recovering herself, she half pushed, half drew Pet up a flight of high stone steps near by.
“Yer’ll git yer dress all kivered wid mud, if yer don’t kape out o’ the strate,” she said, as she turned away. “I’m a-goin’ ter stay down an’ tell ’em where the fire is. It says so on them little cards.”
“But the crowd! When they come you will get hurt.”
“Hm! I’m used to worse crowds nor ever you saw. There! I hear ’em now!”
As Pet listened there rose a faint, far-off rattle of wheels upon the pavement, mingled with a jangling sound of gongs and horns.
“It’s the ingine!” cried Bridget, in great excitement. “It’s comin’!”
But other things were coming too. Bridget had taken her stand directly in front of the alarm-box, and a stream of men and boys who poured around the corner jostled her roughly and pushed her to and fro.
“Come!—come quick!” called Pet, just able to make herself heard above the noise of the crowd. But Bridget shook her head, and pointed down the street.