CHAPTER XVIII.
After Uncle Richard had been driven from the roof of the storehouse, and could see that all hope was over, he went off to take his turn at the engines. He worked at the pumps with all his might and main, as if to deaden his sorrow; but now and again he looked towards the house and thought, "Poor Christian Frederick!"
Jacob Worse was directing the operations, and had had the planking, which surrounded the building-yard on the side where the warehouses lay, pulled down in order to get room for the engines. He managed to get some order among the men who were handing the water, and drove the idle spectators up into the yard near the house. As he happened to pass Uncle Richard, the latter asked him, "Do you think there is any hope, Worse?"
"No!" answered Worse, in a low tone; "I am working in sheer desperation."
"So am I," said the attaché, with a nod; "but think of poor Christian Frederick."
Just then a murmur went through the crowd, who
