"As to its composition," continued Bombs, "I think you will believe after you have seen it, that it was no slight thing to get up a piece of this kind--so many points had to be considered. As an example there was the one thing of garniture. The ladies will appreciate this very readily. If I mistake not, a lady would think a week spent in selecting the proper trimmings for her dress was a long time. What then would she say if I told her that I spent two months selecting the most effective garniture for my piece--two months to get it entirely out of the region of commonness--the region of gold and silver rain and of the 'Peacock's Tail!'" The ladies waved their fans and clapped their hands, during which commotion Mr. Bombs disappeared from view. While Adelaide was wondering where he had gone to so suddenly, a huge stream of serpentine fire issued from the Engine House. It grew larger and larger every moment. It lifted itself into monstrous coils. It hissed and sent forth tongues of flame. It vomited forth all sorts of hideous shapes, in all sorts of lurid colors, ever increasing in size and horror until no more could be conceived--then there was a loud report and a great globe of fire plunged downward and disappeared behind the brow of the hill! The gentlemen applauded. Bombs had said in the beginning that the piece was a cross between a war rocket and a girandole and they supposed that the report and the ball of fire was the war part of it, but Adelaide knew that it was an accident and she thought of the gardener's cottage with a thrill of fear. A moment afterwards a sheet of light and flame came streaming up from that direction, a woman's voice cried "Fire! Fire!" and a woman's form clad in white appeared on the fiery background. The spectators were startled for the moment; then they broke out in wild applause. Dr. Orison said "It is ever thus after war." The woman was standing still with her arms twisted about her body, as though in mortal agony. They thought she was there advisedly to represent the realistic finishing of Mr. Bombs' piece. But they were soon undeceived. Another cry rent the air. "It's Mary, the gardener's wife! Help! help! Her house must be on fire." It was the cry of Adelaide Schwarmer as she ran to her assistance. [Illustration: "FIRE, FIRE!" CRIED A VOICE.] "O my baby! My baby!" moaned the poor woman stumbling along toward her. "Where is it, where?" asked Adelaide. "Lost! Lost!" she cried, sinking down in a dead faint. Mrs. Schwarmer divined the situation and was soon at her side. She threw her magnificent shawl over the prostrate figure. Her husband was sent for. He was in the kitchen helping the servants. They came and carried her in. Dr. Orison offered his services and the rest of the men hastened to the fire; but a stream of water was pouring down on it from the Engine House and their aid was not needed. They returned and reported that "the fire was a trifling affair."