A moment later the entire top of the mill collapsed, sending a gush of sparks far up into the night.  Then at last the faithfully played hoses began to gain control.

“Do run down and find out what the shouting was, Emma,” said Julie.  Emma gladly obeyed.

“She’d come back, if anything had happened,” said Julie, some ten minutes later.

“Who—­Emma?” Mrs. Arbuthnot was not alarmed.  “Oh, surely!” she yawned, and drew her wraps about her.

“It’s all over now.  But I suppose it will burn for hours.  I think I’ll turn in again,” she said.

“I’ve had enough, too!” Julie said, not quite easy herself, but glad to find the other so.  “Let’s decamp.”

She wheeled the invalid carefully back to her room, where both women were still talking when a bell-boy knocked, bringing a message from the doctor.  A woman had been hurt; he would be busy with her for an hour.

“Who was it?” Julie asked him, but the boy, obviously frantic to return to the fascinations of the fire, didn’t know.

It was more than an hour later that the doctor came in.  Julie had been reading to Ann.  She shut the book.

“Jim!  What on earth has kept you so long?”

“Frighten you, dear?” The doctor was very pale; he looked, between the dirt and disorder of his clothes, and the anxiety of his face, like an old man.

“Some one was hurt?” flashed Julie, solicitous at once.

“Has no one told you about it?” he wondered.  “Lord!  I should think it would be all over the place by this time!”

He dropped into an easy chair, and sank his head wearily into his hands.

“Lord—­Lord—­Lord!” he muttered.  Then he looked up at his wife with the smile that never failed her.

“Jim—­no one was killed?”

“Oh, no, dear!  No, I’ll tell you.”  He came over and sat beside her on the bed, patting her hand.  The two women watched him with tense, absorbed faces.

“When I got there,” said the doctor, slowly, “there was quite a crowd—­the lower story of the mill was all aflame—­and the firemen were keeping the people back.  They’d a ladder up at the second story and firemen were pitching things out of the windows as fast as they could—­chairs, rugs, pillows, and so on.  Finally the last man came out, smoke coming after him—­it was quick work!  Now, remember, dear, no one was killed—­“he stopped to pat his wife’s hand reassuringly.  “Well, just then, at the third-story windows—­it seems the laundress has children—­”

“Children!” gasped Miss Ives.  “Oh, no!”

“Yes, four of ’em—­the oldest a little fellow of ten, had the baby in his arms—.”  The doctor stopped.

“Go on, Jim!”

“Well, they put the ladder back again, but the sill was aflame then.  No use!  Just then the mother and father—­poor souls—­arrived.  They’d been at a dance in the village.  The woman screamed—­”

“We heard.”