Two days later, when Frank was walking along the strand he noticed the placards in front of a theater. “Gallery one shilling!” he said to himself; “I will go. I have never seen a theater yet.” The play was The Merchant of Venice, and Frank sat in rapt attention and interest through it. When the performance was over he walked briskly homewards. When he had proceeded some distance he saw a glare in the sky ahead, and presently a steam engine dashed past him at full speed. “That must be a house on fire,” he said. “I have never seen a fire;” and he broke into a run. Others were running in the same direction, and as he passed the “Elephant and Castle” the crowd became thicker, and when within fifty yards of the house he could no longer advance. He could see the flames now rising high in the air. A horrible fear seized him. “It must be,” he exclaimed to himself, “either our house or the one next door.” It was in vain that he pressed forward to see more nearly. A line of policemen was drawn up across the road to keep a large space clear for the firemen. Behind the policemen the crowd were thickly packed. Frank inquired of many who stood near him if they could tell him the number of the house which was on fire; but none could inform him. Presently the flames began to die away, and the crowd to disperse. At length Frank reached the first line of spectators. “Can you tell me the number of the houses which are burned?” Frank said to a policeman. “There are two of them,” the policeman said “a hundred and four and a hundred and five. A hundred and four caught first, and they say that a woman and two children have been burned to death.” “That is where I live!” Frank cried. “Oh, please let me pass!” “I'll pass you in,” the policeman said good naturedly, and he led him forward to the spot where the engines were playing upon the burning houses. “Is it true, mate,” he asked a fireman, “that a woman and two children have been burned?” “It's true enough,” the fireman said. “The landlady and her children. Her husband was a porter at the railway station, and had been detained on overtime. He only came back a quarter of an hour ago, and he's been going on like a madman;” and he pointed to the porter, who was sitting down on the doorsteps of a house facing his own, with his face hidden in his hands. Frank went and sat down beside him. “My poor fellow,” he said, “I am sorry for you.” Frank had had many chats with his landlord of an evening, and had become quite friendly with him and his wife. “I can't believe it,” the man said huskily. “Just to think! When I went out this morning there was Jane and the kids, as well and as happy as ever, and there, where are they now?” “Happier still,” Frank said gently. “I lost my mother just as suddenly only five weeks ago. I went out for a walk, leaving her as well as usual, and when I came back she was dead; so I can feel for you with all my heart.”