"If he's not killed by the fall, he's safe from the fire, for it is burnt out there," he remarked to David Clazie, who accompanied him. Before they reached the place, Joe Dashwood and two other men had rushed in. They found Ned lying on his back in a mixture of charcoal and water, almost buried in a mass of rubbish which the falling beam had dragged down along with it. In a few seconds this was removed, and Ned was carried out and laid on the pavement, with a coat under his head. "There's no cut anywhere that I can see," said Joe Dashwood examining him. "His fall must have been broke by goin' through the lath and plaster o' the ceilin' below," suggested Bob Clazie. At that moment, there was a great crash, followed by a loud cry, and a cheer from the multitude, as the roof fell in, sending up a magnificent burst of sparks and flame, in the midst of which Ned Crashington was borne from the field of battle. While this scene was going on, Mrs Crashington and her brother were still seated quietly enjoying their tea--at least, enjoying it as much as such characters can be said to enjoy anything. When Ned had gone out, as before mentioned, Phil remarked:-- "I wouldn't rouse him like that, Mag, if I was you." "But he's so aggravatin'," pleaded Mrs Crashington. "He ain't half so aggravatin' as _you_ are," replied Phil, gruffly. "I don't understand your temper at all. You take all the hard words _I_ give you as meek as a lamb, but if _he_ only offers to open his mouth you fly at him like a turkey-cock. However, it's no business o' mine, and now," he added, rising, "I must be off." "So, you won't tell me before you go, what sort of employment you've got?" "No," replied Phil, shortly. "Why not, Phil?" "Because I don't want you to know, and I don't want your husband to know." "But I won't tell him, Phil." "I'll take good care you can't tell him," returned Phil, as he fastened a worsted comforter round his hairy throat. "It's enough for you to know that I ain't starvin' and that the work pays, though it ain't likely to make my fortin'." Saying this, Mr Sparks condescended to give his sister a brief nod and left the house. He had not been gone much more than a couple of hours, when Mrs Crashington, having put little Fred to sleep, was roused from a reverie by the sound of several footsteps outside, followed by a loud ring at the bell; she opened the door quickly, and her husband was borne in and laid on his bed. "Not dead?" exclaimed the woman in a voice of agony. "No, missus, not dead," said David Clazie, "but hardly better, I fear." When Maggie looked on the poor bruised form, with garments torn to shreds, and so covered with charcoal, water, lime, and blood, as to be almost an indistinguishable mass, she could not have persuaded herself that he was alive, had not a slight heaving of the broad chest told that life still remained. "It's a 'orrible sight, that, missus," said David Clazie, with a look that seemed strangely stern.