Chapter II (1)

There is an old saying that "A fool can build a fire, but it takes a wise man to keep it burning." This is not true of the fire in the kitchen stove, which should always be built by a wise and thoughtful person. The kitchen fire has caused the loss of many lives and an enormous amount of property.

In laying the fire use paper and dry kindlings. Never pour on kerosene. Do not fill the stove too full of paper, as the smoke may accumulate and blow open the door, thus scattering the burning embers around the room.

After the fire is burning well, close the drafts. Do not allow the stove to get red-hot, as it will not only warp the covers and crack the stove, but it may set fire to the woodwork on the walls or floor.

A roaring fire will sometimes set fire to the soot in the chimney, or carry burning sparks to the roof of the house.

The stove should be set at least eighteen inches away from the woodwork, and the floor beneath it should be covered with brick, tiles, or a sheet of metal.

Never leave the house, or go to bed, when the drafts of the stove or furnace are open. Overheated furnaces have caused many serious fires in the night. Even a low fire will sometimes burn up unexpectedly, especially if the wind blows hard enough to create a strong draft. Do not allow waste or rubbish to collect near the furnace, and do not keep the wood-box near the stove.

_Chimneys_ should be carefully inspected, and repaired when it is necessary, as they frequently crack with the settling of the house. They should be cleaned occasionally to prevent the accumulation of soot, which will burn with a fierce heat, setting the attic or roof on fire.

If there are open chimney-holes in any of the rooms in the house do not stuff them, or cover them, with paper, especially if they are in the same flues which are used for stoves, furnaces, or fire-places. Chimney-holes should always be covered with a tightly-fitted cap or "thimble" made of metal. These caps can be bought of a tin-smith for a small sum.

If the soot in the chimney is on fire, shake on salt or sulphur to extinguish the flames.

_Fire-places_ add a great deal to the attractiveness of a house, but they are especially dangerous if there are children in the family. The sparks often fly out into the room, setting fire to rugs or clothing; babies crawl too near the open blaze; or little girls stand too near the hearth and their thin dresses or aprons are drawn into the fire by the strong upward draft.

Every fire-place should have a hearth of bricks or tiles at least two feet wide, and the fire should be protected by a wire screen. If there are young children in the household, there should also be a fender to keep them at a safe distance from the flames. Some kinds of light wood, especially chestnut and hemlock, will snap and produce many sparks. These sparks fly out in all directions unless the fire is covered with a wire screen. Do not build a roaring fire in the fire-place, as it may carry sparks to the roof.

All fire-places, open grates, and gas-logs should be surrounded by bricks or tiles, so that the woodwork will not catch fire. In many cities there are laws regulating the construction of chimneys and fire-places.

_Pipes_, _cigars_, and _cigarettes_ have caused nearly $10,000,000 worth of damage by fire. Lighted matches thrown away by careless smokers have added $15,000,000 more to this enormous waste. Every one of these fires was absolutely unnecessary. Cigar and cigarette stubs should not be thrown into waste baskets, rubbish heaps, dry grass or leaves. They should never be dropped from the window, as they might set fire to an awning, and they should not be allowed to fall through a grating where there may be a collection of waste paper and rubbish. If you see a lighted cigar or cigarette stub in the street, crush it under your heel until the fire is all out. If there is one in your house, throw it in the stove. In this way you may save property and human life.

_Christmas_ and _Fourth of July_ are the two happiest days in the whole year for children, yet oftentimes they are followed by sorrow and suffering.

Christmas trees, when they are lighted by candles, are easily set on fire, as they are often decorated with festoons of paper, and cotton "frost," which comes in contact with the tiny flames. Many of the ornaments on the tree are made of celluloid. These ornaments catch fire easily and flare up with a quick hot flame, thus setting fire to the branches, which are full of pitch and resin and burn freely.

No one but a grown person should light the candles. Children should be kept at a safe distance from the tree, doors and windows should be closed to exclude the draft, a constant watch should be kept while the candles are burning, and they should all be extinguished before a single present is taken from the tree. This is especially important if the presents are distributed by Santa Claus, as his long beard, and the cotton fur on his clothing, are easily ignited from the candles.

The celebration of the Fourth of July is one of the most serious problems in the country. Fireworks are dangerous play-things and should be used with the greatest caution. Every year many persons are killed or injured, and valuable property is destroyed by the careless use of fireworks.

There are some kinds of fireworks which should never be used under any circumstances. Among these are cannon crackers, fire balloons, toy pistols, toy cannon, bombs, and revolvers firing blank cartridges.

On the day before the Fourth, all yards should be cleared of rubbish, as falling sparks might set it on fire. During the day of the celebration cellar windows should be closed, and stables and barns should be opened only when necessary.

In many cities the sale of dangerous fireworks is prohibited by law; but a common fire-cracker, a Roman candle, or a sky-rocket may cause serious damage if it is not handled properly.

THE SUNSHINE BAND

The Sunshine Band was made up of twelve little girls, one for each of the twelve letters in their name. They wore badges of yellow ribbon just the color of sunshine, with the letters S. B. painted on them in white, and every time they had a meeting they sang their own special song;--

"Scatter sunshine all along your way,
Cheer and bless and brighten every passing day."

They had a secret, too, and a motto. Their motto was "Scatter Sunshine," and their secret--but I'm not going to tell you their secret. They didn't even tell me. I just guessed it.

They met every Saturday afternoon, first at one house and then another. Each little girl was always expected to tell a sunshine story, and if any one had disobeyed the rules of the club she had to pay a fine. Perhaps you will think that the rules were not so very hard to remember, but every once in a while a penny went clinking down to the bottom of their bank.

First of all they were expected to bring sunshine into their own homes. They must say "Good-morning" cheerfully, no matter if the day were cloudy and dismal. They must come to the table with clean hands and faces and a pleasant smile; and they must not frown or look cross if their mother asked them to wipe the dishes when they wanted to play out of doors.

Then all day long they must keep their eyes and ears open to find some helpful thing to do, no matter how small it might be; and if, at night, they had not done one tiny useful thing they must make a black cross against the day.

You would hardly believe how much sunshine they could make with very little trying, and how many pleasant tales they had to tell at their meetings.

Two of the girls gathered flowers every week for one of the hospitals; one did errands for a neighbor who was lame; three, who had sweet voices, gave little concerts at the home for aged women, and another read aloud to a blind girl every Monday afternoon after school.

Sometimes they packed boxes of old books and toys to send to a mission school in the South, and once they shook every penny out of their bank to buy fruit for a little sick girl.

Miss Hastings, who was the teacher of their class in Sunday-school, was also the leader of the band; and whenever they had an especially good sunshine story they carried it to her. She kept their badge of honor, too, unless some one was wearing it as a reward for good service.

One Saturday afternoon, as soon as their meeting was over, they hurried off to her house. "Oh! Miss Hastings," they cried, when she opened the door, "Hilda Browning told the best story of all to-day, and we want her to have the badge right away."

"What is it, Hilda?" questioned Miss Hastings, after she had led the way to her sunny living-room.

"Tell her," urged all the other girls when Hilda hung back, her face rosy with blushes.

"It was nothing," said Hilda shyly, "I just happened to be there at the right time. That was all."

"Happened to be where?" asked the teacher, "and what do you mean by the right time?"

"At Mrs. Hazen's," said three or four of the girls at once. "The curtain caught fire from the gas jet and Hilda tore it down and threw it out of the window."

"Wait a minute!" begged their teacher, putting her hands over her ears; "I can't hear what you say when you all talk together. Now, Hilda, begin at the beginning."

So, with many promptings from the girls, who had heard the story from Mrs. Hazen herself, Hilda told how she had saved the house from fire.

"You know Mrs. Hazen has been sick with rheumatism for over a year," she said. "Her daughter, who has always taken care of her, has gone away for a two weeks' vacation, so I have been going there every afternoon after school to stay for an hour while the nurse takes a walk.

"Yesterday I said I would stay two hours because it was Friday and I didn't have any lessons to learn; and I took over my 'Youth's Companion' to read a story.

"It was such a cloudy afternoon that it grew dark while I was reading and Mrs. Hazen told me to light the gas. When I finished the story she asked me to open the bed-room window to let in some fresh air, and then bring her a glass of water.

"As I opened the kitchen door to get the water, a gust of wind blew the muslin window-curtain into the gas flame. It blazed up in an instant and Mrs. Hazen screamed for help."

"And when Hilda ran into the room and saw the curtain on fire she pulled it down with her bare hands and threw it out of the window," put in Ethel Strong. "The fingers on her right hand are all blistered, but she saved the house from catching fire."

"Perhaps she saved Mrs. Hazen's life, too," added Dorothy Hovey. "You know Mrs. Hazen has the rheumatism so badly that she cannot take a single step, and if she had been alone no one knows what might have happened."

"Now, Miss Hastings, don't you think Hilda deserves the badge of honor?" spoke up Alice Hunter.

"Yes, she certainly does," replied Miss Hastings, and, as she spoke, she took from its box a gold pin with the letters S. S. in blue enamel, and fastened it at Hilda's throat.

"Not all of us may ever have an opportunity to save a house from fire, or a life from danger," she added; "but if Hilda had not been doing a little kindness she would not have been ready in time of need to do a greater one."

_Why did the girls call themselves the Sunshine Band?_

_What were some of their rules?_

_What did the letters S. S. mean on their badge of honor?_

_What kind things did they do?_

_How did the muslin curtain catch fire?_

_How could this have been prevented?_

_Why is it dangerous to have a gas jet near a window?_

_How should all gas flames be protected?_

A gas jet should always be protected by a glass globe or a wire frame, and the bracket should be rigid so that it cannot be folded back against the wood-work, and cannot swing against curtains or draperies. If the curtain catches fire, pull it down quickly and smother the flames with a heavy rug. A woman should never attempt to stamp out the flames, as her skirts will easily catch fire.

If there is an odor of gas anywhere in the house, especially in a dark closet, do not search for the leak with a match or a lighted candle. If you should happen to find the leak you might cause an explosion or set the house on fire.

VACATION AT GRANDPA'S

Did I ever tell you about the time we boys set Grandpa Snow's barn on fire? It happened long ago, but I shall never forget it, if I live to be a hundred years old.

Kenneth and I always thought no better luck would ever come to us than to be told that we might spend the last week of July and the whole month of August with Grandpa and Grandma Snow.

Grandpa Snow owned a large farm up among the Green Mountains, and as our home was in the city, you can imagine how much it meant to us to hear that we were to spend five long weeks in the country.

I was eleven years old and Kenneth was eight, and as we had to change cars but once, Father said we might go all the way alone.

We left the station at eight o'clock in the morning, in the care of a good-natured, obliging conductor who promised to see that we changed cars safely at White River Junction, and the long ride in the train seemed just a part of the vacation fun.

I truly think that we did just as Mother would have liked us to do all that day. She looked so sweet and earnest when she bade us good-bye and said, "Now, boys, be kind and polite to everyone who speaks to you," that we couldn't help remembering her words.

There was a tired-looking woman on the train. She had a little boy who was tired, too, and he kept crying and fussing, until at last Kenneth said he was going to take him over in our seat and amuse him.

The boy was a jolly little fellow, about the age of our dear little baby sister at home, and we three had such a good time together that we could hardly believe our ears when the brakeman shouted out, "Walden! Walden!"

We gathered our bags and boxes together in a hurry, and bade good-bye to our new-found friends. In a minute we were out on the station platform, and the train was whizzing away without us; but we didn't have time to wonder if any one were coming to meet us, for down the road came Grandpa Snow, rattling along in a big hay-rack and waving his old straw hat at us.

"Hello, boys!" he said, as he pulled up his horses beside the platform; "we were pretty busy in the hay-field to-day, so I thought I could come right along, and give you a ride in my new hay-wagon. There's no fancy top on it, but there is plenty of room for both of you young chaps and all your baggage. You'll like it better than an automobile ride, I'll wager. So this is Leslie and Kenneth, is it? You surely have grown! Why, I can hardly tell one from the other, but I'll trust Grandma to know. She always seems to understand boys pretty well."

After a hug, and a hand-shake, and a hearty laugh, we jogged along up the road. Even if we were only boys I don't believe we shall ever forget that ride. It was late in the afternoon, and the air was so cool and sweet that it hardly seemed as if it could be the same hot, dusty day we began in the city. We could smell the cedar and fir-balsam all along the way, and every little while there was a bird-note like a sweet-toned bell.

It wasn't very long before we spied Grandpa's house, and dear old Grandma in the door waving her apron to us.

"Well, Mother," called out Grandpa, as we drove into the yard, "here are two new hired men for you. How do you think you will like them?"

By the way Grandma hugged us and kissed us, I guess she thought we would suit her pretty well. I remember something that suited us, too, and that was the good things we had to eat that night.

I wonder if there is any one else in the whole world who can cook like one's own grandmother? Perhaps there is,--but I know one thing, Grandma Snow was the best cook I ever saw. You should have seen that supper! There were hot biscuits, and fried chicken, and honey, and gingerbread, and cookies, and strawberry tarts, and cottage cheese, and so many good things that we couldn't eat half of them.

Every time we stopped eating Grandma would say, "Something must be the matter with these boys. They haven't any appetite." And Grandpa would look at us over his spectacles and answer, "They do look pale and thin. Give them another tart." Then he'd give one of his great laughs and shake all over like a big bowl of jelly.

We had just time after supper to help Grandpa and the hired man get in one load of hay. Then it was dark, and we were so tired and sleepy that we were glad to climb into bed,--just the highest, whitest, softest bed you ever saw.

We made Grandma promise to call us very early, and at five o'clock the next morning we were ready for breakfast and the day's work in the hay-field.

What fun it was to rake after the wagon, and to ride home on those great, sweet-smelling loads of hay!

Of course we had plenty of time to play, but we liked to work, too; and the work on a farm seems like play to boys who have always lived in the city.

We used to go down to the garden every morning to pick the vegetables for dinner, and we always helped Grandma shell the peas and string the beans. It took a good big panful, too, for we were pretty hungry up there on the farm.

Every morning we drove the cows to the pasture, and every afternoon we drove them home. We hunted for hens' eggs in the big barn, and went blueberrying and blackberrying. Kenneth made a collection of wild flowers, and Grandma showed him how to press them so that he could take them home.

What good times we did have! Even on rainy days there was always something to do, and we often had the most fun of all when it was raining the hardest. All the boys in the neighborhood got into the habit of coming to play with us in one of Grandpa's barns; and we used to have circuses and tight-rope walking and all sorts of games.

But one day, when we had been having a very jolly time together, one of the boys suggested that we should try a new game. "I'm tired of walking on beams and jumping off hay-mows," he said. "Let's do something different."

He took a whole bunch of matches out of his pocket and held them up. "Let's try scratching matches, and see who can scratch the most and blow them out again in one minute," he suggested.

I, for one, knew very well that matches were not made to play with, and I said so. Kenneth and Willie Smith agreed with me. So did Joe Wiggin and Peter Fisher, but four or five of the boys thought it would be great fun, and in spite of all we could say the match-race began.

Four boys sat down in a circle on the barn floor, lighting and blowing out the matches just as fast as they could, while Harry Plummer counted sixty.

In their hurry, they threw the matches down carelessly, and before any of us noticed it, a lighted match had been thrown into the hay.

It blazed up in an instant, and before we could run to the field for help the whole barn was a roaring furnace. Joe Wiggin and Peter Fisher led out the two horses, and fortunately, the cows were in the pasture, for in less than half an hour the barn was burned to the ground. All the hay that we had worked so hard to get in was lost, besides some of Grandpa's tools and his new hay-rack.

Grandpa and the hired man got there in time to save the harnesses and a few little things, and then all we could do was just to stand there and watch the barn burn. The nearest fire-engine was in the village four miles away, and all the water we had was in one well.

Luckily Grandpa's buildings were not joined together, and as there was no wind, only that one barn was burned. But that was one too many.

I tell you, I shall never forget that fire, and to this day I can't see a boy with matches in his pocket without wanting to tell him this story and urge him to remember all his life that matches are made for use and not for playthings.

_Tell of some of the good times you have had on a farm._

_What did the boys do on rainy days?_

_What game did one of them propose?_

_What happened while they were playing this game?_

_What are matches made for?_

_How should they be used?_

There are several kinds of matches,--brimstone matches, parlor matches, bird's-eye matches, and safety matches. Safety matches can be lighted only on their own box, and are, therefore, the safest match to use. Parlor matches, so called, are dangerous, as they break easily and the blazing head flies off, lodging in clothing, draperies, or furniture. The sale of parlor matches is forbidden by law in New York City on account of the great number of fires which have resulted from their use.

Common matches should be kept in a tin box; they should be used carefully, and never thrown away while they are burning, or even while the stick is still red-hot. It is a bad habit to have matches scattered around the house, or lying loose in bureau drawers, in desks, on tables, or in the pockets of clothing. There are many ways in which fires have been caused by loose matches. Lucifer or brimstone matches have been known to burst into flame from the heat caused by the sun's rays shining through a window pane.

THE FIRE DRILL

It was a warm, sunny afternoon in October,--one of the days of Indian summer that come to tempt us out of doors after vacation is over, and work has begun in earnest.

The pupils of the sixth grade in the Ashland School looked longingly out of the windows as they put away their spellers and took the reading-books from their desks. Their teacher saw the look, and understood what it meant. When the hands of the clock pointed to half-past two, and the bell rang for a five-minutes' recess, she said, "You may put on your hats and coats, and we will spend a half-hour in our garden. I noticed this noon that it needed some attention."

The children looked at each other and nodded eagerly. It was just the day for a lesson in gardening, of that they felt sure, especially if it meant a whole half-hour out of doors.

The school garden was their greatest pleasure. They had spent many a happy hour working together over the flower beds, since that morning in April when Miss Brigham had ended their lesson in nature-study by asking, "How many would like to help me make a garden in the schoolyard?"

Every hand flew up instantly, every face brightened with delight. There was not a boy or girl in the room who was not eager to begin at once; and the moment the frost was well out of the ground they went to work.

The boys spaded up the soil, and the girls helped rake it over and mark it out in beds. There was a narrow strip the whole length of the fence for a hedge of sunflowers, and in front of it were three square plots, one for each of the three classes in the grade.

The children sent everywhere for seed catalogues, and studied them eagerly. Each class bought its own seeds and planted them, and once every week they spent a half-hour hoeing, weeding, and watering the garden.

In one plot morning-glories climbed over a wire trellis and turned their bright faces to the morning sun, in another there was a gay riot of nasturtiums. During the summer the girls picked fragrant bouquets of sweet peas, and all through the fall they gathered sunny yellow marigolds for the teacher's desk.

But now Jack Frost had taken his turn at gardening. The nasturtiums and morning-glories hung in ragged festoons from their trellises, and the heavy heads of the sunflowers drooped from the top of the dry stalks. There was nothing left in the garden but a few hardy weeds that had grown in spite of the watchful gardeners.

"I don't see anything to do," said one of the girls, as she followed Miss Brigham across the schoolyard. "We may as well let the weeds grow now if they want to."

"We must clear everything away and get the garden ready for next spring," replied the teacher. "You can see for yourselves what ought to be done. I will stand here and watch you work."

After all there was plenty to do. One of the boys took out his knife and cut off the sunflower stalks, while the girls picked off the few seeds that the yellow-birds had left, and tied them up in a paper to save them for another year.

They tore down the vines, and pulled up the marigolds and zinnias. They straightened the trellises and smoothed over the empty beds. Then they picked up bits of paper that were blowing over the yard, and raked up the leaves that had fallen from the maple tree in the corner. When the work was finished there was a big pile of rubbish to be taken away.

"We might have a bonfire," suggested one of the boys.

"No," said Miss Brigham, "this west wind would blow all the smoke into the schoolhouse. Besides, there are too many houses near by. You can put the rubbish in the waste-barrels in the basement, and the janitor will take care of it."

The other children went back to the schoolroom, while the three largest boys were left to clean up the yard. The waste-barrels were full and running over; but they hunted around in the cellar and found an empty box in which they packed all the rubbish. Then they went upstairs and took up their work with the rest of the class.

Suddenly the big gong in the hall rang out sharply for the fire drill,--one, two, three! At the third stroke every book was closed, and in the sixteen rooms of the building all the pupils rose at once to their feet, ready to march down to the street. The doors were thrown wide open, and they passed out of their class-rooms in double file to meet another file from the opposite door, and move down the stairs four abreast, keeping step to the double-quick march played by one of the teachers.

On their way they passed the dressing-rooms, but no one took hat or cap from the hooks. There was not a moment to lose. Every child must be in the street in less than two minutes after the stroke of the third bell. They had done it over and over again, in exactly this same way, and the principal was standing at the door with his watch in his hand, counting off the seconds. He would know if a single child kept the line waiting.

"What a good day it is for a fire drill!" they thought, as they passed through the long halls and down the stairs; but before the last of the older pupils were out of the building they realized that this was no fire drill.

Smoke was already pouring through the cracks in the floor and curling up around the registers. It filled the hall with a thick cloud that made them cough and choke as they marched through it; but not a boy pushed the boys in front of him, not a girl screamed or left her place, as the line moved steadily down the steps and across the yard to the street.

Two of the teachers stood at the gates to hurry the children off toward home, and even before the firemen came clattering around the corner, the big schoolhouse was empty and the pupils were safe.

After the fire was out and the excitement over, the fire chief and the principal sent for the boys who had taken the rubbish to the basement.

Yes, they had lighted some matches, they said, because the cellar was dark, the waste-barrels were all full, and they were trying to find an empty box. The head of one of the matches had broken off, but it was not burning, and they had not thought of it again.

It was possible that they might have stepped on it later and lighted it, and that the tiny flame had set fire to the waste paper on the floor.

"That was no doubt the cause of the fire," the fire chief agreed. "Parlor matches are often lighted in that same way. This was, of course, an accident; but even accidents can be avoided.

"In the first place there should never be any waste paper on the basement floor; and in the second place boys should never carry parlor matches, or any other kind of matches, to school. There are more precious lives in a schoolhouse than in any other building in the whole world."

_Why was the rubbish put in the basement?_

_How did it catch fire?_

_How could this fire have been avoided?_

_Why is it dangerous to carry matches to school?_

_Why are parlor matches especially unsafe?_

_Have you ever seen a match break off when it was scratched?_

_What became of the head of the match?_

Schoolhouses and public buildings should be provided with a metal-lined bin where waste paper and refuse may be temporarily collected, instead of allowing it to accumulate on the basement floor or in wooden boxes and barrels. This bin should be located away from the stairs or corridors, and should be so placed that water-pipes passing over it may be provided with sprinklers which would open automatically in case of fire.

There should be fire-escapes on the large buildings, and children should be taught how to use them. All doors should open outward, and should never be locked during the school sessions. Fire drills should be practiced regularly, and every child in the building should understand the necessity for marching out promptly and in order.

Chemical fire-extinguishers, or pails well filled with water and marked "For Fire Only," should be set in conspicuous places on each floor near the stair-landings, and in the basements.

FIGHTING THE FIRE

Every village, town, and city is liable at any moment to have a fire. If this fire gets well under way it may become a conflagration, which no single fire department can control. For this reason promptness in reaching the fire with suitable apparatus is of the very first importance.

Great responsibility rests upon the firemen. They must be cool-headed, but quick in action; cautious, but daring; ready in an instant to perform difficult and dangerous tasks, often at the risk of their own lives. Every great fire makes heroes. It is this life of excitement and daring that attracts men and makes them eager to fight the great battles against fire.

In olden times methods of fighting fire were very simple. The only apparatus consisted of axes, buckets, ropes, and short ladders. Men and boys ran to the fire and did their best to put out the flames, but they had no leader and could not work to advantage.

The first fire-engines were drawn through the streets by men, instead of horses, and water was forced through the hose by means of a hand-pump worked by these same men.

Every year the system of fire protection is being perfected, new apparatus is invented, and better methods are introduced.

In the smaller towns the fire companies consist largely of volunteer firemen, who leave their work at the sound of the alarm and hurry to the scene of action. But in the larger cities the fire-department is like a well-organized army, with its chiefs, captains, lieutenants, and privates, always prepared to wage a never-ending war against the fires.

Most of these men live in the engine-houses, and are ready at any moment, day or night, to answer an alarm. The horses stand free in their stalls, awaiting the signal, trained like the men to instant action.

With the first stroke of the great gong the horses leave their stalls and stand beside the pole of the engine. The harness, suspended in mid-air, falls upon their backs, and almost before the men can jump up and cling to their places on the engine, the driver picks up the reins, the horses plunge through the open door and gallop madly down the street.

The driver leans out over the pole, his hands far apart, holding the reins in an iron grasp and guiding the flying horses safely along the winding way.

Gongs clang, whistles blow, bells ring! The streets are cleared as if by magic. Heavy teams are drawn up beside the curbing; electric cars stand still; men, women, and children hurry to the sidewalks, or stand in open doorways waiting for the engines to go tearing along to the fire. The fire apparatus has the right of way!

When the scene of the fire is reached, the driver pulls up the horses so quickly that they are almost thrown on their haunches; the engine is wheeled into place beside the hydrant, the hose is attached and straightened out along the street.

The police have already drawn a fire-line, and are driving back the eager, curious crowd; but the firemen have eyes or ears for nothing but the fire. The chief shouts his orders and they hasten to obey. The horses are led away to a place of safety, and ladders are brought up to be used in case of need.

Two or three men seize the nozzle of the great hose and rush with it into the burning building to seek the heart of the fire. Smoke pours from the doors and windows in dense clouds, blinding and choking them until they gasp for breath. Water slops and spatters everywhere, steam rises from the blazing timbers, and the intense heat scorches and stifles them as they work.

At last the smoke clears away, the water is shut off, and then, with picks and axes, the firemen search under fallen timbers lest some tiny blaze may still be smouldering in a hidden corner.

At a quick order from the chief, the hose is rapidly drawn back and folded in its place, the horses are harnessed again to the engine, and the men return to the engine-house, to await their next call to action.

In the largest cities, which have grown rapidly skyward, piling one story on top of another in office buildings and dwelling houses, the firemen find their hardest work. This is especially true in the crowded tenement districts, where hundreds of people live under a single roof.

Here men, women, and children have to be rescued from upper windows and roofs, by means of scaling-ladders and life-lines; and sometimes they even have to drop into life-nets which the firemen hold to catch them.

If the building is so high that the water from the hose cannot reach the flames, the water-tower is brought to the scene of action, and a stream is poured into the building through windows many stories above the ground.

In every large fire-department several different kinds of apparatus are needed. There is a chemical engine for use in case the fire proves to be small and easily controlled. There are long trucks loaded with ladders, tools, and ropes; and there are also the regular fire engines, sometimes drawn by plunging horses, sometimes driven through the streets at a high rate of speed by a powerful motor. These motors are superior to horses because they can reach the fire more quickly, and can carry heavier and more powerful engines.

In the harbors, and in some of the larger rivers and lakes, there are fire-boats to be used in case of fire along the water-front, or in vessels at the docks. These boats always have plenty of water at hand, and often do valuable work in saving property on the wharfs and piers.

VERNON'S BROTHER

If any one had asked Vernon Houston what he wanted more than anything in the whole world, he would not have waited an instant before replying, "A brother!"

He had pets of all kinds,--rabbits, guinea pigs, a dog, and a pony; but still his lonely little heart longed for a brother, some one to enjoy all his pleasures, some one to go to school with, some one to play with when his father and mother were away and only Jane was left in the kitchen.

To be sure he had books and games without number, but he soon grew tired of reading, and what good were games when there was no one to play with him?

Of course he had plenty of school friends and playmates, but on stormy days, or when he and Jane were left all alone, there were never any boys to be found,--just when he most needed them.

In spite of his dog and his pony and all his rabbits he couldn't help being a little lonely. Whenever he saw two brothers playing together, he always thought how glad he would be to exchange every one of his pets--pony and all--for a little brother, and every Christmas he wrote a letter to Santa Claus to ask for one.

On his ninth birthday his father and mother surprised him by saying that they were going to Boston. They promised to come home the next day and bring him the best birthday gift he ever had in all his life; but what this delightful gift was to be they would not tell. It was a secret, and a very good secret, too.

To tell the truth Mr. and Mrs. Houston had decided to adopt a little boy. They had been planning it for some time, but Vernon knew nothing about it. They had always been sorry for their brotherless son, and they knew how many boys there are in the world who have no home, no father and mother, no one to love them and care for them.

They had been waiting to hear of some homeless lad, who was good and honest, to take into their home and hearts, and to become the "little brother" for whom Vernon longed. At last a man telephoned from Boston that he had found just the boy they wanted, so they set off at once to bring home the birthday gift.

When they looked into Harry's bright eyes and honest face, they were not long in deciding that he was just the right boy for them.

Mrs. Houston bent and kissed him, and Mr. Houston took him by the hand, saying kindly, "Harry, how would you like to come and live with us, to be our boy, and a brother to our son, Vernon?"

Harry was too happy to say a word, but his big brown eyes answered for him, and it was not long before they were all three on their way to Greenfield.

I wish you could have seen Vernon when his father and mother arrived with the birthday gift.

"Here, my boy, is the secret,--the brother you have been waiting for so long," said Mr. Houston. "Let me introduce you to your new brother Harry. He has come to stay as long as he can be happy with you. He is only a few months younger than you are, and I don't see why you two boys can't have a good time together."

It seemed as if the boys had only to look straight into each other's eyes to become the best of friends, and if you could have watched them as the days went by, you would have thought they were as happy as children could possibly be.

Vernon brought out all his playthings and gave half of them to Harry; he showed him how to make Rags do all sorts of funny tricks; he let him feed the rabbits and the guinea-pigs; and when they went to ride, he let Harry drive the pony. How the little fellow did enjoy holding the reins and riding in a red pony-cart like those he had looked at so many times before with longing eyes.

The two boys ran races, played ball, and went to school together. Vernon never complained of being lonely, and as for Harry, he was the happiest boy you ever saw. He tried to show how grateful he was for everything that Mr. and Mrs. Houston did for him; and he resolved to study hard, to be honest and true, and never to forget to do all in his power to repay his kind friends.

The brothers had a room together with two white beds standing side by side. One night Mr. Houston came home very late and found that the boys had gone to bed, so he went to their room to bid them good-night.

He was much surprised to find both the boys reading a book, with a lighted lamp on a little stand between their beds.

"My sons," he said very seriously, "I always like to see you enjoying your books, but I cannot allow you to read after you are in bed."

"Why not, Father?" questioned Vernon.

"Because it is a dangerous thing to do," Mr. Houston replied. "You might fall asleep without blowing out the light. It is a common thing to have such an accident. Lamps are often tipped over and houses set on fire in just that way."

"But, Father," urged Vernon, "please let us finish this chapter. It will take only a few minutes longer, and it is such a good story."

"You may finish this one chapter," Mr. Houston answered. "Then you must blow out the light, and after to-night there must be no more reading in bed with a lighted lamp."

The boys meant to obey their father; but they were both very sleepy, and before the end of the chapter was reached, they were sound asleep.

It was not long before Vernon restlessly threw out his arm. His hand hit the lamp and knocked it off the table, and the oil spread over the carpet, taking fire from the burning wick.

Rags had crept into the room to sleep on his little master's bed, and the noise waked him. When he saw the blazing oil, he jumped down and ran out into the hall, barking with all his might.

Mr. and Mrs. Houston rushed upstairs and beat out the flames with heavy rugs, before the bed clothing caught fire; but the boys were terribly frightened, and no one ever had to tell them again not to read in bed with a lighted lamp. They had learned a good lesson, and little Rags had become a never-to-be-forgotten hero.

_Why was Vernon lonely?_

_What gift did he have on his ninth birthday?_

_Why did the boys set a lighted lamp on the table beside their bed?_

_How was it overturned?_

_Where was Rags? What did he do?_

_How should this fire have been avoided?_

A lamp, a lantern, or an oil-stove should not be placed where it could possibly be upset. Neither should it be blown out until the wick has been turned half-way down, as the flame might be blown into the oil, thus causing an explosion. To turn down the wick too low, however, is also dangerous.

All brass or metal work on a lamp or oil-stove should be kept clean and bright, as dirty metal retains the heat, thus causing vapor to rise from the oil, and making an explosion possible.

THE WORLD'S GREAT FIRES

Ever since men have built their houses of wood, and have crowded their dwellings together in cities, there have been terrible conflagrations, destroying, in two or three days, property which has been gathered together at a great cost of time and labor. Thousands of people have been made homeless, and fortunes have been lost in a single night.

As long ago as 65 A. D., when Nero was Emperor of Rome, more than half the city was destroyed by a great fire, and the people were obliged to flee to the hills for safety.

Constantinople has suffered eleven conflagrations, by which more than 130,000 homes have been destroyed; and in Japan, where the houses are built of bamboo and paper, fires sweep through the streets with the rapidity of the wind, burning hundreds of the little low buildings in a single hour. In fact, these fires are of such common occurrence, and are so destructive, that the Japanese people keep their valuable possessions in fireproof storehouses in their own gardens, and they often have the frame and paper walls of a new house in this "godown," ready to put together as soon as the ashes of their former dwelling are cool enough not to set another fire.

In September, 1666, the city of London was devastated by flames. The fire broke out in a baker's shop, and spread on all sides so rapidly that it could not be extinguished before two-thirds of the city had been destroyed. All the sky was illuminated by the flames, and the light could be seen for forty miles. More than a thousand houses were in flames at the same time. Night was as light as day, and the air was so hot that the people could do nothing but stand still and look on at their own ruin.

In those days there was little fire-fighting apparatus, nothing at all to be compared with our modern conveniences; and the flames, fanned by a strong east wind, swept through the narrow streets, fairly eating up the houses, which were built entirely of wood. The ruins covered 436 acres; 400 streets were laid waste, 13,200 houses were destroyed, and 200,000 persons were made homeless.

The first of the great conflagrations in our own country was the fire in Chicago in October, 1871. This fire was caused by a cow kicking over a lighted lantern in a barn; and, from this simple start, three and one-half square miles were laid waste, 200 persons were killed, 17,450 buildings were destroyed, and 98,500 persons were made homeless. The flames were fanned by a fierce gale, and spread with great rapidity, raging uncontrolled for two days and nights.

In November, 1872, the city of Boston was visited by fire. The conflagration was confined almost wholly to the business district, and while only 800 buildings were destroyed, the loss amounted to $73,000,000, and hundreds of men lost their entire fortune.

In April, 1906, San Francisco was devastated by the most terrible fire known to all history. The fire was preceded by earthquake shocks, and, with the falling walls and chimneys, fires were started in different sections of the city. The earthquake also caused the bursting of the water mains in the streets, so that it was impossible to hold the flames in check; and before they were at last extinguished the burned area was over three times greater than that of the Chicago fire, and ten times that of the Boston fire. This fire destroyed $350,000,000 worth of property, and over 300,000 persons were made homeless.

The Baltimore fire, in 1904, burned over 140 acres, and $85,000,000 worth of property was lost.

This great waste is a serious problem which confronts our country; but each one of us, by being careful, may do his share toward lessening the loss by fire.

NEW YEAR'S EVE

It was the last night of the year, and a happy little group was sitting around the supper table in the Hawleys' pleasant dining-room.

There were Mr. and Mrs. Hawley and their two children,--Leland, who was a wide-awake boy of fourteen, and Rachel, who was two years younger. Their cousins, Lawrence and Dorothy, had come to spend several weeks with them. As they were all about the same age, the four children were having a merry time together.

The Hawley homestead was in a little country town in New England; but Lawrence and Dorothy had always lived in the city of New Orleans and they knew nothing about winter and winter sports. You can imagine how much they enjoyed everything, especially the snow.

They were all laughing and chatting merrily when suddenly Mr. Hawley rose and went to the window. "I hear sleigh-bells," he said. "A sleigh is driving into our yard."

In a moment more a knock was heard at the door, and a note was handed to Mrs. Hawley telling her that her sister was very ill.

This sister lived several miles away, but Mrs. Hawley felt that she must go to her at once, so her husband decided to harness his pair of bays and drive her over.

"I am sorry to leave you, children," Mrs. Hawley said, as she tied on her bonnet. "Have just as good a time as you can, and I will trust you not to do anything that would displease me."

"I will take Mother over and return as soon as possible," said Mr. Hawley, as he tucked his wife into the sleigh. "I shall try to be home before ten o'clock; but don't sit up for me. Be good children and take care of everything."

"Perhaps my sister will be better and I can come home to-morrow," added Mrs. Hawley cheerfully. Then she kissed the children and bade them good-bye, and the horses dashed off down the road with a great jingling of bells.

The girls looked a little sober when they went back into the big empty farmhouse, but Leland tried to cheer them up. "We'll have a jolly time keeping house," he said. "What's the first thing to be done?"

"The dishes, of course," replied his sister; "there are always dishes to do, no matter what happens."

The boys cleared the table, while Rachel and Dorothy washed and wiped the dishes, and set the table for breakfast. Then they brought in some wood and built a big fire in the fireplace.

The flames went roaring up the chimney, and the children sat for a long time before the fire, watching the rings of sparks that twisted in and out on the soot-covered bricks. "Children going home from school," they called them, and the last one to burn out was the one to stay after school for a whipping.

"Let's roast some chestnuts," Leland suggested, when there was a good bed of hot ashes, and he ran up in the attic to get a bagful that he had been saving for just such an occasion.

It was fun to push the chestnuts into the fire with a long poker and then watch them pop out when they were roasted. Sometimes they flew across the room, or under the tables and chairs, and then there was a great hunt for them.

"We might wish on the chestnuts," Rachel suggested. "If they pop out on the hearth, our wish will come true, but if they fly into the fire, it won't."

"Oh, yes!" cried Lawrence; "that's just the thing to do. Girls first,--you begin, Rachel."

"No, Dorothy is my guest," replied his cousin; "she must have the first turn."

Dorothy poked her chestnut into the ashes. "I wish I might spend the whole year up here with you," she said; and when the nut popped right into her lap the other children joined hands and danced around her in a circle.

Then it was Rachel's turn, and she wished for higher marks in school than she ever had before; but the chestnut jumped into the fire and blazed up merrily.

"That's because your marks are good enough anyway," her brother told her. "What is your wish, Lawrence?"