From down the street there came a brazen clamouring for the right of way; it grew imperiously louder, and there were clatterings and whizzings of metallic bodies at speed, while little blurs and glistenings in the distance grew swiftly larger, taking shape as a fire engine and a hose-cart. Then, round the near-by corner, came perilously steering the long "hook-and-ladder wagon"; it made the turn and went by, with its firemen imperturbable on the running boards. "Fire!" Florence cried joyfully. "Let's go!" And, pausing no instant, she made off up the street, shouting at the top of her voice: "_Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!_" Herbert followed. He was not so swift a runner as she, though this he never submitted to a test admitted to be fair and conclusive; and he found her demonstration of superiority particularly offensive now, as she called back over her shoulder: "Why don't you keep up with me? Can't you keep up?" "I'd _show_ you!" he panted. "If I didn't haf to lug this ole basket, I'd leave you a mile behind mighty quick." "Well, why'n't you drop it, then?" "You s'pose I'm goin' to throw my c'lection away after all the trouble I been _through_ with it?" She slackened her gait, dropping back beside him. "Well, then, if you think you could keep up with me if you didn't have it, why'n't you leave it somewhere, and come back and get it after the fire's over?" "No place to leave it." She laughed, and pointed. "Why'n't you leave it at grandpa's?" "Will you wait for me and start fair?" "Come on!" They obliqued across the street, still running forward, and at their grandfather's gate Herbert turned in and sped toward the house. "Take it around to the kitchen and give it to Kitty Silver," Florence called. "Tell Kitty Silver to take care of it for you." But Herbert was in no mind to follow her advice; a glance over his shoulder showed that Florence was taking another unfair advantage of him. "You wait!" he shouted. "You stand still till I get back there! You got half a mile start a'ready! You wait till we can start even!" But Florence was skipping lightly away and she caroled over her shoulder, waving her hand in mocking farewell as she began to run: "Ole Mister Slowpoke can't catch me! Ole Mister Slowpoke couldn't catch a flea!" "I'll show you!" he bellowed, and, not to lose more time, he dashed up the steps of the deserted veranda, thrust his basket deep underneath a wicker settee, and ran violently after his elusive cousin. She kept a tantalizing distance between them, but when they reached the fire it was such a grand one they forgot all their differences--and also all about the basket. CHAPTER NINE