“All right,” said Bog, who took no part in these family differences.  He put on his cap, and left the house.

CHAPTER IV.

UP IN THE AIR.

“Uncle Ith” was one of the city bellringers, and lived at the top of a tower a hundred feet high, which vibrated with every stroke of the great bell hanging midway between his airy perch and the ground.  He was sixty years of age, and had white hair, but he was as strong as younger men, and could swing the clapper against the side of the great bell with a boom that could be heard across rivers, and far into the peaceful country, on quiet nights.  His eyes were so sharp, that, without the aid of a glass, he could read names on the paddle boxes of steamboats, where the unassisted vision of most persons descried nothing but a blur.  He had done duty on that tower during the six years since it was built; and he knew the section of the city which lay spread out beneath him as a man knows his own garden.  In the daytime, he could always guess, within a street or two, the location of any fire in his district.  He knew all the smokes from a hundred factories, foundries, distilleries, and never confounded them with the fires which it was his business to detect.  The presence of a new and suspicious smoke among the black stretch of roofs, caught his eye instantly; and he could tell in a moment, by its color, its speed of ascent, and the quantity of sparks accompanying it, whether it came from a carpenter’s shop, a stable, a distillery, a camphene and oil store, or some other kind of building.  In the nighttime, he knew the lights which mapped out the squares and the streets within his range of observation, almost as well as the astronomer knows the other lights that shine down upon the sleeping city from the heavens.  He could fix the position of a fire by night rather better than by day, because he had the red reflection of the flames on well-known steeples, and high, prominent roofs to guide him.

Such were Uncle Ith’s qualifications for his place; and he was so loved and trusted by the firemen of his district, that no mayor, however beset by applicants for office, had ever dreamed of removing him.  In all of Uncle Ith’s limited relations with the world, he was esteemed an honest man; and his word would have possessed the literal novelty of being as good as his note, had necessity ever required him to borrow money.  But Uncle Ith was frugal, and made his small salary suffice for himself and a family of seven motherless children.

He had one eccentricity—­a complete indifference to newspapers.  He never bought nor borrowed them.  “What’s the use of reading ’em?” he would say.  “Why not imagine the murders, suicides, political meetings, and other trash that fills ’em, and save your money for terbacker?” This did Uncle Ith, and he flattered himself that it was wisely done.

The bell tower was not far from the boy’s home, and in a few minutes he stood at the foot of it, and shouted to Uncle Ith:  “Hallo, there!”