that streamed down into the lake, and burned even out on the water.  The fisherman was badly burnt, hair, beard and eyelashes almost singed off; but still he thought of rescue.  “Fire at that miserable little chip that holds it,” he cried; “fire, since you can’t hit it otherwise.  Oh, for an asbestos suit, and I would have styed.”  They fired pistol and gun with no effect, till the lawyer, out in the skiff with Bill, got his rifle sighted to the point in the blue flame, where he thought the preventing ridge ought to be.  He fired at close range, the ball hit the rock projection, and at once the great block slid away into the lake, with a splash that damped the flames with a column of spray, and revealed an awful corridor of fire.  No living creature was there, but the detective, dipping his feet in the lake, took a boat hook out of the returning skiff, and then, standing in the flames, hauled out two charred masses, and extinguished them in the shallow water by the shore.

Mr. Terry came running down and crying:  “Out on the wather wid yeez, ivery mother’s son av yeez; the foire’s spreadin’ an’ the threes is fallin’; fer yer loife, min.”  Mr. Bangs, still in command, asked:—­

“How many will the skiff howld, Bill?”

“Seven, anyway,” replied the Richards of that name.

“Mr. Coristine and Mr. Terry take commend and choose crew.”

“Come, Matilda and Monty,” said the lawyer.

“Come on, Sylvanus, Timotheus, Rufus,” cried Mr. Terry.

“I’ll row,” said the Irishman.

“And me, too,” added Sylvanus.

“Look after my prisoner, Mr. Bangs,” cried Rufus; and the skiff went out to sea.

Bill transferred himself to the scow, with his brother Harry and Mr. Bigglethorpe.  The detective lifted the two charred masses to the opposite side of the middle thwart from that against which the prisoner lay.  Then, Bill and Bigglethorpe having taken the bow, he and Harry took the stern, and the scow followed the skiff.  For a time the two boats stood stock still, fascinated by the awful scene.  The explosions were over, but the forest was blazing fiercely, and up towards the smouldering buildings, but underground, blazed a vault of blue fire that reached up to the standing brick chimney of Rawdon’s house.  Hundreds of animals were in the water around them, squirrels and snakes and muskrats, even mice, swimming for dear life.  Then, pitter, patter, came the rain, hissing on the flames.  It fell more heavily; and the lawyer, having doffed his coat to row, threw it over the woman’s shoulders, while Mr. Terry put that of Sylvanus about the boy.  “Lead on, Mr. Coristine,” cried the detective; and the skiff shot through the narrows, with the punt hard after it.  The rain fell in torrents and drenched the occupants of both vessels; but those whose faces were towards the stern could see the bush-fire still raging.  “The rain’ll stop it spreadin’,” Bill called out cheerfully, and the lawyer rejoiced,