At home I had either a book or a biscuit in my hand always--so my mother said of me. The supper dishes out of the way, our table was drawn to the fireside and our big lamp glowed upon us until past ten o'clock. What a magic in its light and the silent hours! Far tribes and peoples, the sayings of wise men, immortal tales and poems, the wonders of art and invention, were gathered into the lamplight. Above all, I enjoyed the poets, even the best of them, and committed pages of classic verse, and had burning thoughts of great accomplishment. We went one night to the Thanksgiving ball at Jones'--I and my sister and some of her schoolmates--in a big sleigh. It was, I may say, historic, being the last of its kind in the neighborhood. We were not to see again the careless, old-time frolic. The bass horn, also, was thenceforth banished from like scenes forever. The big fire came, and the telegraph followed in the early spring, and the railroad in the summer; and new brick buildings, including that of the Hearts-dale Academy, and many students and workingmen. A new editor appeared who began to poke fun at the old fashions. Then came the dress-suit, and novel forms of entertainment, and a big fire-engine. All these things had their effect upon us. Mr. Crocket appeared at this last of the oldtime dances. He sat with the fiddler, and came in, now and then, with a long streak or a sudden splash of bass. Between dances we heard the bells ringing and hurried out-of-doors. A light rose high in the heavens above Heartsdale. The village was afire, and we made a rush for coats and caps, and our horses were soon speeding along the road. The Rogers block was burning, and what a scene it was! A squad worked on a force-pump at the town well. Men rushed aimlessly about shouting orders mingled with profanity. Others swore back at them with equal emphasis. Every one had a plan of his own. A few were arguing loudly face to face. Mr. Boggs stood looking on with an “I-told-you-so” expression. Some were bravely at work in the heat passing water-buckets. One was on a roof near the fire playing the hose. They said he was H. M. Pearl. I saw the ladder he had climbed, and the thought came to me that here was my chance at last, and I made my way up it through heat and smoke to the side of my friend. As I fought the falling cinders I wondered if Jo would ever hear of it. “The fire has got more power than we have!” Pearl shouted to me. He worked for a few minutes only when the water gave out. The fire had been forcing us back, and a blast now and then scorched our faces. “We'll have to adjourn,” said Pearl; and we slid down the smoking ladder with blistered hands and faces, and our coats afire. Heartsdale was more than half destroyed that night, and the marble-shop was in ruins. Pearl had seen the truth--the village had not power enough for its foe. Every day or two some town or city was burning up for that reason.