Returning to his pillow, he settled down, seeking to compose himself, and praying that those rest-disturbing dreams might trouble him no more. But thoughts of Hooker would not let him sleep, and presently something else brought him bolt upright on the bed, startled and wondering. It was a clamor of bells, beginning with a peal from the steeple of the Methodist church down the street. The night air vibrated with the sounds, which seemed to pour in upon him through the partly opened window of his bedroom. Why were those church bells ringing at such an hour? He could distinguish the tones of the academy bell, as well. In a moment he knew it must be an alarm meant to arouse the town, and out of bed he sprang, catching his trousers up from the back of a chair and getting into them as quickly as he could, trembling slightly all the while with excitement. Below he heard Mrs. Chester calling to the maid, and, opening the door of his room, her words came plainly to his ears: “Sarah! Sarah! Get up quick! I’m frightened. There must be a big fire. The bells are ringing.” “So that’s it,” muttered Osgood, hastening to a window. “There’s a fire in the village. They sound the bells to give the alarm.” Looking from the window, he failed to observe any glow of light against the sky to indicate where the fire might be. Through a momentary lull of the bells, he fancied he heard some one shouting far away in town. Surely some terrible thing had happened or was taking place. Lighting a lamp, he rapidly finished dressing, and pulling on his turtle-neck sweater he grabbed up his cap. As he bounded down the stairs, Mrs. Chester called to him from a partly opened door at the end of the hall: “Where is it, Ned? Where’s the fire?” “I don’t know,” he answered. “I looked out, but I couldn’t see any fire. Don’t be alarmed; it must be a long distance away, in another part of the village.” A man was running down the middle of the street as Osgood dashed from the house, slamming the door behind him. He called to the man, but received no answer. Then he took to the street and followed. The bell in the Methodist steeple hammered and banged as he raced past the church. Lights were shining everywhere from the windows of houses. Men and boys came running from side streets, questioning one another excitedly without getting satisfactory answers. There was a crowd in the village square, and, contrasted with the agitated people who came running to join it from every direction, it was strangely calm. Ned grabbed some one by the arm, as he demanded: “What is it? What’s the matter? Why are they ringing the bells?” He recognized Jack Nelson, as the person he had questioned turned to answer. “It’s Hooker!” “Hooker!” choked Osgood, aghast. A fearsome thought smote him. Hooker was dead! But why should they ring the bells in the middle of the night and bring all the people out?