terposed. "I saw it just a minute ago—it is coming along the hallway from the back."
"Guard Kingman has gone for the fire-tub, sir"—Varge spoke again, in quick, firm tones. "I do not know how long it will take to get it here, but if we had plenty of men we could form a bucket brigade and keep the roof wet down until we got a stream on it."
Warden Rand's eyes swept the roof for an instant; and then, as though to dispossess his mind of any idea of exaggeration on Varge's part, a swirl of smoke came down the driveway, a shower of sparks spurted upward, scattered, and settled, glowing, in a dozen spots on the shingles. He swung sharply upon one of the guards.
"Bring the good-conduct men over here with buckets, Laidley," he ordered tersely. "And bring them on the double! I'll have a closer look at this—the rest of you can start getting the things out of the house; it's as well to be on the safe side. And a ladder, Laidley"—he called after the guard. "Bring a ladder!"
"There is one in the barn that is long enough, sir," said Varge. "I'll have it up by the time the men are back."
Distant shouts and cries, growing ever nearer, sounded from the direction of the little village; the great prison bell still clamoured its alarm; along the road came scurrying women, some dragging children by the hand, some carrying a babe in arms, others talking, gesticulating, crying excitedly to one another; while, leading them, passing them, the younger element, boys and girls, came scrambling through the hedges and poured onto the lawn—and high now in air, ominously high, shot a wicked, lurid fang of flame.
From the barn Varge dragged out a ladder; and, as
