Nothing
was done at the further block, because that appeared to be in no
danger. They hadn't reckoned with the wind. The wind had sent the fire
licking up the woodwork, dancing over slates and tiles, springing at
the roof of the hall; and all at once the far block was involved. A
furnace blast of flame leaped at it, billowing waves of smoke rolled
through it; and it crackled and screamed and blazed. The bigger girls
had just time to escape; but the children, seven of the smallest, were
left on the upper floor.
"It's Mr. Dale. Oh, Mr. Dale, 'tis pitiful. You can hear 'em squealin'
up theer. Oh, Mr. Dale, sir, what can us do?"
The heat was tremendous, and as the men came staggering back they
pushed him away. Then they clustered round him, each face like a fiery
mask, and yelled to make themselves heard above the noise of the wind
and the flames, the clatter of failing stone, and the cries of
hysterical women.
He broke free from them, stood alone near the burning shell of the
veranda, and hoarsely shouted from there. "Come on, ma lads. Give me
the ladder. Don't shrink or skulk. Come on. If I can stan' it--so can
you. Fetch those floor-rugs."
He was almost breathless, but joy seemed to give force to his laboring
lungs.
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