About three o'clock in the morning we were awakened by an alarm of fire. The room was full of light, and when we looked out of the window we found that it was close by--only about two squares away. It was a big blaze and, as it was on the opposite side of the street, we had a fine view of it. I was terribly frightened. My uneasiness earlier in the evening had unnerved me, and this terrible fire so near us upset me completely. A fire fills me with horror, especially if it breaks out in the night: it always reminds me of the burning of a big steamer that happened one awful night in my tenth year. I watched the flames, fascinated by their lurid splendor;--imagining that the three white pigeons which had been awakened by the light and were circling around the tower of smoke--now hidden by it, and now silhouetted against it--were the souls of those who had perished in the flames. Overcome by horror, I finally exclaimed:-- "Suppose it had been this big building that had caught fire!" "But it wasn't," said Julius. "No: but it might have been. I don't like this at all. I want to be in a little house by ourselves, close to the ground." "Yes, it would be better," said Julius, who saw by the light of the flames how pale I had become, and noted how I was trembling. "It will not do to have you so terrified: we'll make a change at once. But it will be difficult to find a house until the tourists begin to scatter." We thoroughly discussed the situation, and by breakfast-time had reached a decision. I was to return to Lemonville for a stay of a week or two, and while there to see to the packing and shipping of a piano we had left in storage. Julius meanwhile was to find a cottage, and have our belongings transferred to it. We did not like the arrangement very well, but it seemed to be the only thing we could do. Thus ended our experience as lodgers. I was gone two weeks. It was pleasant to meet old friends, after a separation long enough to have plenty of news to exchange, without having had time to lose interest in each other's affairs, but my heart was back in Jacksonville. Julius and I wrote to each other every day, but the mails were so tedious and uncertain that we usually got each other's letters by threes or fours, with days full of anxiety and heart-ache between. I still have the package of letters received then. I have just been reading them over again. Bruno pervades them all. It is-- "Took Bruno with me to the office to-day, he begged so hard when I started to leave him; it's lonely for him, poor fellow!" And-- "While I ate breakfast, I had the waiter put up a good lunch for Boonie; he's getting tired of biscuit, and I don't like to give him raw bones." On Sunday,-- "I took Bruno a long walk in the suburbs to-day. It did him a lot of good." A letter written just before I returned says,-- "Bruno seems down-hearted to-night; I think he misses somebody."