Under this treatment the fogginess quit Judge Priest's brain, and he became aware of the presence of a considerable number of persons about him, including the two Edward Tilghmans--Senior and Junior--and the two Tilghman girls; and Jeff Poindexter, wearing about half as many garments as Jeff customarily wore, and with a slightly blistered appearance as to his face and shoulders; and Mr. Ulysses Rice, with a badly skinned nose and badly drenched shoulders; and divers others of his acquaintances. Indeed, he was quite surrounded by neighbours and friends. Also by degrees it became apparent to him that he was stretched upon a strange bed in a strange room--at least he did not recall ever having been in this room before--and that he had a bandage across the baldest part of his head, and that he felt tired all over his body. “Well, I got out, didn't I?” he inquired after a minute or two. “Got out--thunder!” vociferated the sergeant with what the judge regarded as a most unnecessary violence of voice and manner. “Ef this here black boy of yourn hadn't a-risked his own life, climbin' down over the roof and goin' in through a front window and draggin' you out of that fire--the same ez ef you was a sack of shorts--you'd a-been a goner, shore. Ain't you 'shamed of yourself, scarin' everybody half to death that-a-way?” “Oh, it was Jeff, was it?” said the old judge, disregarding Sergeant Bagby's indignant interrogation. He looked steadfastly at his grinning servitor and, when he spoke again, there was a different intonation in his voice. “Much obliged to you, Jeff.” That was all he said. It was the way he said it. “You is more'n welcome, thanky, suh,” answered Jeff; “it warn't scursely no trouble a-tall, suh--'cep'in' dem ole shingles on dat roof suttin'y wuz warm to de te'ch.” “Did--did Jeff succeed in savin' anything else besides me?” The judge put the question as though half fearing what the answer might be. “Ef you mean this--why, here 'tis, safe and sound,” said Sergeant Bagby, and he moved aside so that Judge Priest might see, leaning against the footboard of the bed, a certain crayon portrait. “The glass ain't cracked even and the frame ain't dented. You three come out of there practically together--Jeff a-hang-in' onto you and you a-hangin' onto your picture. So if that's whut you went chargin' back in there fur, I hope you're satisfied!” “I'm satisfied,” said the judge softly. Then after a bit he cleared his throat and ventured another query: “That old house of mine--I s'pose she's all burnt up by now?” “Don't you ever believe it,” said the sergeant. “That there house of yourn 'pears to be purty nigh ez contrary and set in its ways ez whut you are. It won't burn up, no matter how good a chance you give it. Jest about the time Jeff here drug you out on that little balcony outside your window, the water works begun to work, and after that they had her under control in less'n no time. She must be about out by now.”