of insult, when once more she directed the pipe against his mouth, and the torrent of water drowned its coarse abuse, after which it was again turned to the flames.

Yngve, who immediately recognised Hertha, stood for a few minutes the silent spectator of her deeds, and seemed to have great enjoyment in thus watching her. But when he saw the sparks of fire fall upon her beautiful plaits of hair, for the handkerchief which had been tied on her head had fallen back upon her shoulders, he took off his cap and put it on her head.

"You work well, comrade," said he, smiling, and with a tone that expressed heartfelt esteem, as he took the hose from her hand, "but your hand is not strong enough for this work; it is better suited to mine. Thank you for the help you have given."

"If I can be of any use here, say so at once," said Hertha, replacing the cap on his head, and drawing the handkerchief over her own.

"Take care, if possible, that there is no want of water here," said Yngve, "and then, with God's blessing, we shall soon put an end to the fire."

"Good! you shall not want water," said Hertha, hastening away. She talked with several of the unoccupied people among the crowd, and succeeded, by her earnest words, and her animated and resolute demeanor, in inducing them to assist her, and in this manner she had soon organized a systematic and regular line of water supply, from the Klar to that part of the conflagration where Nordin and his men were working. Already the fire began to abate. It was evident to all who were near that this was the most important point, and that if the fire could now be extinguished, any further danger of its progress was over.

"Now for it, my lads!" said Yngve. Some of you must mount on yonder wall, in order to direct the water from that elevation upon the opposite house. If you can extinguish the fire there, all is right!"

More ready or braver-hearted people, in the hour of danger,

than the Swedish working-classes, are nowhere to be met with. In a moment the men were seen clambering up the yet burning ruins. When they had reached the top of the wall they raised an hurrah of triumph. The force of the water from this height was very great.

In half an hour the conflagration was stayed; all danger from its further extension was over. Again they hurrahed, standing on their dangerous elevation, and the next moment the wall fell, with all its array of brave laborers. An hour afterwards Yngve Nordin was borne away from the smoking ruins by his young comrades, with one knee and his left arm greatly injured by the falling wall, the last achievement of the fire. But he would not consent to be removed from the spot before he had collected all his men around him, and convinced himself that no lives were lost of those who had scaled the wall. He took counsel with the physician of the place respecting such as were injured, and having arranged everything for their comfort and well-being, allowed himself to be removed to the parsonage, outside the town, where, during the time that his works on the railway would keep him in that neighborhood, he had his home.

Night came down; the conflagration was stayed; the drum beat in joyous announcement; but more than two thousand persons, whom the fire had ruined, or rendered homeless, wandered about the town or in the fields outside.

NIGHT IN THE KING'S-FIELD.

THE greater number of the fugitives were assembled in the King's-field, because it lay nearest to the portion of the town in which the fire had raged, and because its large although yet leafless trees afforded some little shelter.

Gloomy and leaden hung the sky of that March night above the still burning ruins of the town. Now and then flames were seen to leap up from amid masses of fallen houses, which flung a dreary illumination over the desolation which lay within, and the sorrowful spectacle in the field outside, There might the miserable fugitives be seen wandering about, not knowing what to do, or sitting in groups keeping watch over their rescued possessions, many with their heads tied up, or with bandaged eyes or limbs, testifying of their too close contact with the fire, and all pale, dejected, and wearied; the greater part of them hopeless and bewailing. The gloom of the night seemed only to increase the misery. They were perished with cold; children cried, and many a mother had no means of keeping her little ones warm but by clasping them to her bosom. Many a poor wretch seemed perfectly stupified by dark and gloomy despair. In vain Mimmi Svanberg and the young Countess went from one to another, offering them warm coffee and bread, and a comfortable fire-side at either of their houses; nobody was thirsty or hungry; nobody was willing or dared to leave their rescued household stuff. They thanked the kind ladies almost with indifference, and continued to sit staring on the ground, at the reeking ruins, or out into the darkness. The wailing of the children, now and then a cry of misery, and heavy sighs of deep anguish, alone broke the melancholy silence.

Here and there people were talking about the cause and origin of the fire; dark suspicions were uttered, and the words, "it was done on purpose," were whispered from one to another. Here and there also people were scheming how they best could take advantage of the darkness and the confusion; and Mimmi Svanberg heard a mother say reproachfully to her son, a lad of ten years old:

66 If you were only like a fox and brought home what you could get, then you would be worth something!"

The lowest classes of the town's population, so long left neglected in their wretchedness and ignorance, had become dangerous, and the better classes, both of the poor and the rich, were afraid of them, and not without reason.

Hertha had succeeded in placing her family in a certain degree of comfort. The father and the invalid sister lay on mattresses at the foot of an old oak tree. The younger sisters were also warmly clad; and little Aunt Nella sat, not unlike a great bundle of rags, restlessly working her fingers upon the precious portfolio, in which lay the papers of the great lawsuit, and puzzling her poor brain to find out whether this fire would not deliver her from some of its involved intricacies.

Rudolph had been unwearyingly helpful to Hertha in arranging all in the best possible manner for the comfort of the whole family; and yet Hertha would not reward him with one kind word, nor even one glance. She spoke affectionately to her little sisters; she wrapped shawls around her father's feet; she warmed Alma's hands in her bosom and upon her cheeks; she looked after the comfort of Aunt Nella and old Anna with kind solicitude; for all she had words of affection and encouragement, but not for Rudolph, although he seemed to watch for her eye, as the faulty and chastised dog watches for the forgiving eye of his master.

The Director sat almost immovable, gazing towards his burned-down house, and his lips now and then muttered, as if unconsciously, the thought which most haunted his soul; "It was not insured!" He continued to tremble as if shivering

with cold. Now and then he convulsively clutched at his money-box.

The darkness veiled more and more the sorrowful picture, but no sleep visited the eyes of the unfortunate fugitives. Snow-flakes fell and mingled themselves with the ashes, which the night wind scattered over their heads; dull, lamenting cries and sorrowful groans were carried by it across the field. All at once a strong voice was lifted up, which exclaimed; "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest!' thus, my afflicted friends, cried the Redeemer to you, yesterday and to-day. Listen to his message."

At this unexpected declaration all heads were raised. But the darkness at this moment was so dense that no figure could distinctly be seen, no one could discern the messenger. All the more powerful, therefore, was the impression produced by those words which resounded across the field, amid the dismal darkness of the night, from the lips of the invisible preacher, who, with a voice and power full of inspiration, conveyed the consolations and light of the Gospel to those miserably unhappy people sitting in the midst of darkness; showing them the all-seeing eye of the Father guarding them in the gloom of night, the loving Father's heart ready to console all, to help all. Never did any sermon improvised for the moment produce a deeper effect upon its hearers. The stupor of misery, silent despair, and gloom passed away from the soul; people spoke; they wept; they sobbed aloud; but it was no longer because they were inconsolable. They were profoundly arrested, they were unspeakably affected by the thought of Him who bore with us the crown of thorns and the cross, and who bore them for our salvation. Never before had his image been presented so clearly and brightly to the minds of the listening people. They poured out their emotions, like the waves of a surging ocean, in sighs and tears, as they listened to the powerful and faithful discourse of the preacher. All at once, this was interrupted by a wild shriek of self-accusation: