Coming up from the darkness she was unnoticed. Every one was watching the flames, except those who were trying to put them out. The first person she saw was Vickers. His coat was off, and from the rather dangerous eminence of a woodpile he was playing the hose upon the roof of a neighboring stable. Among the lookers on, she observed Overton, and then the perfidious Emmons. She might be excused for a feeling of anger against her betrothed; and she was just approaching him in order to thank him for his consideration of her wishes, when her attention was distracted. Vickers, who had come down from the woodpile, was suddenly approached by a sobbing, expostulating child, the daughter of the farmer. She had evidently escaped from the parental supervision and had seized the knees of the first passer-by. Nellie saw Vickers stoop to listen, saw him lay down a bucket he had taken up, saw him hitch his trousers with a peculiarly energetic motion, and run toward the blazing building. Some one shouted to him, another caught his arm, and was shaken off. He disappeared into the blaze. An instant later he reappeared carrying a small bundle which turned out to be nothing more than a puppy. A voice reached her ears in the pause that followed. “Well, I would not risk my life for a dog.” And Emmons’s voice replied: “A pretty even risk. Bob Lee against a blind puppy.” The sentence fell coldly on Nellie’s enthusiasm. Her heart beat quickly with something very like contempt for the speaker. Nearby, the child and the mother dog were holding a solemn thanksgiving, utterly indifferent to the excitement about them. Nellie preferred their society. She had had some thought of saying a word to her cousin, but something held her back. There seemed a sort of meanness in keeping herself aloof from him at home, and then stepping out to share his public triumphs. As she moved back she found herself near Overton, who was talking to Mr. Fowler, the Presbyterian clergyman. “The fellow’s as wild as a hawk, Fowler,” Overton was saying, “and yet I rather like him.” “It was a brave action,” returned the clergyman dubiously. “Aye,” said Overton, noting the hesitation; “a good many of the brave actions of this world have been done by those the church damned in the next.” “I think,” answered the clergyman tartly, “that it takes some courage to be merely good, Mr. Overton. Morality is a kind of courage.” Overton laughed. “I’m not so sure of that,” he said; “but I rather think courage is a kind of morality.” The sentence impressed itself on Nellie’s mind. She admired Mr. Overton, and was accustomed to give attention to anything he said. Of course, courage was a kind of morality--Bob’s kind--not so difficult and praiseworthy as a steady industry, like James Emmons’s; but, oh, so much more interesting!