In a small cottage, near the end of the village street, a lad, hearing the midnight alarm, got up and hurried to the window. He could make out the short, stocky form of Constable Stickler rushing about. Then, off to the left, he could see a dull glow in the sky. There was, also, the smell of wood burning. "What is it, Herbert?" asked a woman's voice from another room. "Fire, mother," replied Herbert Dare. "Mr. Stickler is giving the alarm." "Whose place is it? I hope it isn't around here. Oh! fire is a dreadful thing! Where is it, Herbert?" And Mrs. Dare put on a dressing-gown and came into her son's room. "I think he said it was Mr. Stimson's barn, mother. I can see a blaze over in that direction." "Mr. Stimson's barn? He has a fine lot of cattle in it. Oh, I hope they save the poor creatures!" Herbert, or, as he was usually called by his chums, Bert, grabbed up his clothes from a chair, and began to sort them in the darkness, looking for his trousers. "What are you doing, Herbert?" asked his mother. "I'm going to dress." "What for?" "I'm going to the fire." "Herbert! Don't go! You might get hurt. Suppose some of the horses should run away and trample on you? Don't go!" "I must, mother. They'll need all the help they can get. I must go!" From the village street once more came the alarm. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" Now, however, more voices were shouting it. There was also the rush of feet, and Bert, peering from the window, saw a crowd of men and boys, many of them carrying buckets, hastening along. The glare in the sky had become brighter. "I'm going to dress and go, mother," said the boy. "I want to aid all I can. We'd like help if our house was on fire." "Oh, Herbert! Don't suggest such dreadful things!" Mrs. Dare left her son's room, and in a few minutes he had dressed sufficiently to go out. "Now do be careful, Herbert," called his mother, as he ran downstairs. "If anything should happen to you, I don't know what I'd do." "I'll be careful." Herbert Dare was the only son of a widow, Mrs. Roscoe Dare. Her husband had died several years previous, leaving her a small income, barely sufficient to support herself and her son. It may be added here that Mr. Dare had been a city fireman before his marriage. This, perhaps, accounted in a measure for the interest Herbert took in all alarms and conflagrations. "It certainly looks like a big fire," thought the boy, as he broke into a run down the street. He soon caught up with the crowd hastening to the blaze. "Hello, Bert!" shouted a lad to him. "Going to help put the fire out?" "If they need me, Vincent. I see you have your bucket." "Yep," replied Vincent Templer, one of Bert's chums. "It's dad's. He belongs to the bucket brigade, but he's away from home, and I took it." "I wish I had one." "Oh, I guess they'll have plenty at the barn." "They'll need 'em, for it looks as if it was pretty well on fire."