Old Press Harper, from three miles out in the county, was sitting well back toward the rear of the little hall. It is possible that his attention wandered from the subject in hand. He chanced to glance over his shoulder and, through the frosted panes of a back window, he caught a suffused reflection. Instantly he was on his feet. “Hey, boys!” called out Mr. Harper. “Somethin's on fire--looky yander!” He ran to the window. With his sleeve he rubbed a patch clear on the sweated pane and peered out. Others followed _him_. Sashes were hoist, and through each of the three window openings in the back wall protruded a cluster of heads--heads that were pinky-bald, grey-grizzled or cottony-white, as the case might be. “You bet there's a fire, and a good hot one! See them blazes shootin' up.” “Must be down by the Old Fort. D'ye reckin it could be the old plough factory bumin' up?” “Couldn't be that far away, could it, Bony? Looks closer'n that to me.” “Fires always seem closer than what they really are--that's been my experience.” “Listen, boys, for the engines--they ought to be startin' now in a minute.” They listened; but, though the fire bell in the City Hall tower, two blocks away, was sounding in measured beats, no clatter of hoofs, no clamour of fast-turning wheels, rose in the street below or in any neighbouring street. Only the red flare widened across the northern horizon, deepening and brightening, and shot through in its centre with lacings of flame. “That's funny! I don't hear 'em. Well, anyway, I'm a-goin'.” “Me, too, Press.” The windows were abandoned. There was a rush for the corner where overcoats had been swung on hooks and overshoes had been kicked back against the baseboard. Various elderly gentlemen began adjusting earmuffs and mufflers, and spearing with their arms at elusive sleeve openings. The meeting stood adjourned without having been adjourned. “Coming, Billy?” inquired Mr. Nap. B. Crump in the act of hastily winding two yards of red knitted worsted about his throat. “No; I reckin not,” said Judge Priest. “It's a mighty bitter night fur folks to be driv' out of their homes in this weather. I'm sorry fur 'em, whoever they are--but I reckin I couldn't do no good ef I went. You young fellers jest go ahead without me--I'm sort of gittin' along too fur in years to be runnin' to other people's fires. I've got one of my own to go to--out there in my old settin' room on Clay Street.” He rose slowly from his chair and stepped round from behind the table, then halted, cant-ing his head to one side. “Listen, boys! Ain't that somebody runnin' up the steps?” It surely was. There was a thud of booted feet on the creaking boards. Somebody was coming three stairs at a jump. The door flew open and Circuit Clerk Elisha Milam staggered in, gasping for breath. They assailed him with questions. “Hey, Lisha, where's the fire?”