By this time the neighbors began to arrive from the tenements.
Tom took charge of every man as soon as he got his breath,
stationed two at the pump-handle, and formed a line of
bucket-passers from the water-trough to Carl and Cully, who were
spreading the blankets on the roof. The heat now was terrific;
Carl had to shield his face with his sleeve as he threw the water.
Cully lay flat on the shingles, holding to the steaming blankets,
and directing Carl's buckets with his outstretched finger when
some greater spark lodged and gained headway. If they could keep
these burning brands under until the heat had spent itself, they
could perhaps save the tool-house and the larger stable.
All this time Patsy had stood on the porch where Tom had left him
hanging over the railing wrapped in Jennie's shawl. He was not to
move until she came for him: she wanted him out of the way of
trampling feet. Now and then she would turn anxiously, catch
sight of his wizened face dazed with fright, wave her hand to him
encouragingly, and work on.
Suddenly the little fellow gave a cry of terror and slid from the
porch, trailing the shawl after him, his crutch jerking over the
ground, his sobs almost choking him.
"Mammy! Cully! Stumpy's tied in the loft! Oh, somebody help me!
He's in the loft! Oh, please, please!"
In the roar of the flames nobody heard him.
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