Frank ran down the narrow lane between Caius and the schools, and in another minute was in Trinity Hall. From the rooms above the gateway a volume of flame and red smoke was pouring out. Not many men were as yet in the court; those there were, belonged to the college itself. They were looking on, ready enough to assist, but helpless at present. The engines had not yet arrived, and the flames were having it all their own way, pouring out with a fierce crackling from the windows of the first-floor. The volume of red smoke, lit up by an occasional tongue of flame, which filled the adjoining rooms, showed that it was rapidly spreading. Very soon a bright ripple of flame runs along the ceilings, the window curtains catch, the glass shivers into fragments at the fiery touch, and the flames rush out with a roar of triumph. Now the men from the colleges near, from Caius and Trinity and Clare, are clustering in, together with a few of the townspeople. Presently the engines come lumbering up, and the handles are seized by eager volunteers. But there is no water at hand, and the hose are not long enough to reach to the river behind. So long lines of men are formed down to the waterside, who pass the buckets along from hand to hand, and in a few minutes the engines begin to work. By this time the fire has got a firm hold of the part attacked, and the upper stories are one sheet of flame. Dainty food do the old colleges, with their rickety wooden staircases and wainscoted rooms, dry and inflammable as so much tinder, offer to the hungry fire. At last the engines are in full play, and work at a speed at which engines have seldom worked before. Most of those at the handles are boating-men, who have been for weeks in some sort of training. Beneath their powerful arms the cranks work up and down, with a rapid stroke, very unlike the usual monotonous clank of a fire-engine. The men encourage each other with cheering shouts and boating cries of “Now then, all together!” “Now she moves!” and the jets of water dash eagerly in at the blazing windows. But the fire still spreads. The roof falls in. The flames mount up more fiercely and brightly than before, with vast volumes of glowing smoke, and myriads of fiery sparks. Day is dawning, and the crowded court presents a strange sight as the grey morning light breaks on the red flashing of the fire. Some of the men are in pea-jackets with boating-caps of every colour, others are in their caps and gowns. Here a party is working its engine with untiring vigour, there another group is impatiently awaiting fresh supplies of water; long lines of men are passing the buckets to and from the river. Sober dons are as busy and excited as any; a few are directing the operations, the rest are hard at work among the undergraduates. In spite of their exertions the fire still spreads. All are anxious; for if the flames extend to the adjoining wing of the court, Trinity, which is only