They followed him down to the corner house, which stood blackened with smoke and water, but otherwise uninjured, for it was just here that the flames had been arrested, and in the hall-way the few poor remnants of the household goods that had been saved from the other tenements were huddled together.  Pushing past these, the policeman stopped at an open door whence issued a sound of voices.  Lizzie started forward as a familiar tone struck her ear, and smiling she exclaimed, “That’s Becky!”

But the policeman pulled her back.  “Wait a minute!” he said.

“Who’s that speakin’ to me?” called out the familiar voice.  “Is it Lizzie Macdonald from the store?”

“Yes, yes!” and, the policeman no longer holding her back, Lizzie stepped over the threshold.  There were two or three others in the room; but over and beyond them Lizzie caught sight of Becky’s big black eyes, and hurrying forward cried:  “Oh, Becky, I’ve only just got out of the store, and just read about the fire, and I thought mebbe you were hurt, and I came as fast as I could to see if I couldn’t do something for you; but I’m so glad you are all right—­But,” coming nearer and finding that Becky was not standing, as she supposed, but propped up on a table, “you’re not all right, are you?”

“No, I—­I guess—­I’m all wrong,” responded Becky, with a queer little smile, and an odd quaver to her voice.

“Oh, Becky, Becky, they ought to have taken better care of you,—­a little thing like you!”

“‘Twas she was takin’ care of other folks,” spoke up one of the women in the room.

“Yes, ‘twas a-savin’ my Tim that did it,” broke forth another.  “She’d got down the stairs all safe, and then she thought o’ Tim and ran back for him.  She know’d I wasn’t to home, and he was all alone; and she saved him for me,—­she saved him for me!  She helped him out onto the roof; ’twas too late for the stairs then, and a fireman got him down the ’scape; but Becky—­Becky was behind, and the fire follered so fast, she made a jump—­and fell—­oh, Becky!  Becky!”

“Hush now!” said the other woman.  “Don’t keep a-goin’ over it; yer worry her, and it’s no use.”

“Went back for Tim, saved Tim the prize-fighter!” thought Lizzie, in dumb amazement.

“The kid’ll be all right soon,” broke in another voice here.

Lizzie looked up, and saw a rough fellow, who had just come in, gazing down at Becky with an expression that strangely softened his hard face.

Becky lifted her eyes at the sound of the voice.

“Hello, Jake,” she said faintly.

“Hello, Becky, yer’ll be all right soon, won’t yer?”

“I’m all right now,” said Becky, sleepily, “and Tim’s all right.  He didn’t get burnt, but the basket and all the pretty flowers did.  If I could make another—­”

“I’ll make another for you,” said Lizzie, pressing forward.

“And hang it for Tim?” asked Becky.