One Sunday evening, while reading, he heard the bells ring, and, like almost all boys, wanted to run to the fire. His father told him that he himself would like a walk, and that they might go a certain distance, but would probably find that the fire was extinguished. Bob remembered, however, that the wind was blowing hard when they were coming home from church, and then it suddenly occurred to him that in that absence of rain of which he had heard, the wooden buildings so common in the city must be as dry as tinder. When they turned the corner of the street, both uttered a cry of surprise. The sky was all aflame, and dense clouds of smoke, in which cinders were thickly mingled, were driven by the wind over their heads. "I do not think that it is near my office, Bob," said his father; "but it seems a great conflagration, and we had better find out if it is likely to spread." They walked rapidly toward one of the bridges over the Chicago River, and crossed it. As they passed on they met a gradually increasing throng, apparently fleeing from the fire and seeking a place of safety. The smoke and cinders grew more plentiful, and the sky was now lit from horizon to horizon. At last they reached the office, and Mr. Perkins opened it with his key. Everything inside was quiet and undisturbed; but he felt a strange degree of alarm, none the less acute because somewhat vague. He almost mechanically opened his safe, and stood looking at its contents, and mentally wondering whether it would preserve them in case of the advent of the flames. Even while he was thus engaged, the noise outside grew louder and louder. Crowds were heard hurrying through the street, and many were crying and shouting. Bob went to the door and opened it, only to shrink back almost in terror. The burning cinders had been blown over to the street where the office was, and the block had taken fire.