Along the cornice under the lathing, beneath the eaves they
crept--those little fiery tongues--lapping at each other in
wanton, playfulness, and whispering to the dry old shingles on the
roof above of the mischief they meant to do.
Half an hour went by, and from the three towers of Shannondale the
deep toned bells rang out the watchword of alarm, which the
awakened inhabitants caught up, echoing it from lip to lip until
every street resounded with the fearful cry, "Fire, fire, Grassy
Spring is all on fire."
Then the two engines were brought, from their shelter, and went
rattling through the town and out into the country, a quarter of a
mile away, to where the little forked tongues had grown to a
mammoth size, darting their vicious heads from beneath the
rafters, reaching down to touch the heated panes, hissing defiance
at the people below, and rolling over the doomed building until
billow of flame leaped billow, both licking up in their mad chase
the streams of water poured continually upon them.
Away to the eastward the night express came thundering on, and one
of its passengers, looking from his window, saw the lurid blaze,
just as once before he had seen the bonfire crazy Nina kindled,
and as he watched, a horrible fear grow strong within him,
manifesting itself at last in the wild outcry, "'Tis Grassy
Spring, 'tis Grassy Spring.
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