of stoicism that would have done credit to a true Comanche.
"My boy! My boy!" shrieked Mrs. Brainard, running forward with outstretched arms, as the smoke again closed around him.
Peter caught her. "Stand back, ma'am. For heaven's sake, stand back! Ye 'll ketch yer dress. He ain't hurt none; the fire ain't reached him. I 'll save him," and whipping out his knife, Peter dashed into the smoke. He returned three minutes later, a mass of stripes and mingled grease kicking in his arms.
Mrs. Brainard, who had closed her eyes preparing to faint, opened them again and looked at Augustus. He was a muddy copper colour with here and there a vivid touch of blue, and he exuded a peculiarly blent odour of brass polish and smoke.
"Is—is he dead?" she gasped.
"He's quite lively, ma'am," said Peter, grimly struggling to hold him.
