Ever since Meg laid her hand on a moderately warm stove, when she was
learning to walk, she has been very much afraid of fire, and no one in
the house is in the least anxious about her playing with matches, for
she could not be hired to do such a thing at any price. Indeed, it was
thought a very remarkable event when, having reached the advanced age of
seven years, she consented to take one of the long tapers made for the
purpose and light the gas in hall and sitting-room.
Her mother was glad to have her do this, thinking that it would make her
careful, and at the same time teach her not to be overtimid. And so it
did, but not in the way mamma expected; for one evening, as Meg carried
her taper under the portière, what should she do but set the fringe on
fire!
Seeing that Meg had all her life been in mortal dread of just such an
accident, it was very brave in her, without an instant's hesitation, to
brush the fire out with her two little hands. She did not even scream,
but she was very pale and "trembly" when she went to mamma in the
library, and showing her besmirched hands, said, "It's all over, mamma,
but I 'most set the house on fire." Sure enough, the fringe, scorched
for a distance of two or three feet, proved that it was a narrow
escape.[2]
[2] This incident is strictly true, and Meg, now some five years older,
is among the regular readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.
Upon the whole, it would be well if all young people were as much afraid
of fire and of matches--the cause of fire--as Meg was. Many a family has
had to run for their lives out into the dark night because some heedless
youngster saw fit to take this dreadful creature, fire, for a playmate.
[Illustration: RESCUED FROM THE FLAMES.]
Our artist actually witnessed the incident which he has so cleverly
drawn. The flames had seized on the lower stairways and stories of the
house, so that escape was impossible for the mother and child on the
fourth floor. No ladder could be procured, so one of the most active of
the firemen climbed from one window to another, by the help of sashes
and blind fixtures, until he reached the frightened pair. Others
followed him, stationing themselves in the lower windows. A mattress was
brought out, and held by a score of strong arms under the windows.
Baby must go first, though mamma could hardly bear to have him leave
her arms; and perhaps the fireman had to be a little rough before he
made her loose her hold. It was simple enough to deal with him, however,
and he scarcely had time to squall and kick, so deftly was he passed
down, first to the man standing in the window below, then to the one who
sat on the sill, and finally dropped into the mattress.
Mamma was more difficult to manage, because she was bigger and heavier.
But, on the other hand, she could help a little by holding on to the
sills, and letting go when she was told. So at last she too was steadily
lowered from hand to hand until she reached the mattress and the ground.
If these men had been a little less brave and skillful than they were,
there might have been a sad tale to tell as the result of a boy's
thoughtless experiment with a match. Sad enough a fire always is,
however, for those who lose or suffer by it, and in all large cities the
Fire Department is very carefully equipped and organized.
[Illustration: THE FIRST "STEAMER" IN NEW YORK.]
The old-fashioned hand-engines, such as are shown in the illustration,
with a row of men at the brakes on either side, are all out of use now,
and are seldom seen save in villages and small towns. There even they
are fast giving way to chemical engines, and before many years the old
piano machines will be almost forgotten. Nevertheless, they did good
service in their day, and were manned by as daring a set of fellows as
ever ran to a fire, or broke each other's heads in a street fight.
Thousands of them served bravely on both sides in the war of the
rebellion, but when those that were left of them went home,
steamers--the small cut shows the first one that did duty in New
York--had come in and crowded out the old "machines." Volunteers were no
longer wanted.
Very different affairs were fires in those days from what they are now.
Then the first shout of "fire!" set loose a very bedlam of noises. Bells
rang, every one who was in the street yelled "fire!" and the whole
population rushed madly toward the place where it was supposed to be. It
is a wonder that anything was ever done amidst such a scene of
confusion; but in reality fires were wonderfully well managed.
How different is everything now in all the large cities! In New York,
for instance, there are several fires every day, but most people learn
of them through the newspapers. Not an alarm-bell is rung. Very rarely
is the cry of "fire!" heard.
You are sitting quietly at home, perhaps. Suddenly you hear the sharp
stroke of a peculiarly toned gong. Then there is a thunder of wheels, a
clatter of galloping hoofs, and you rush to the window in time to see a
vision of gleaming brass, flying sparks, dark figures clinging to the
swaying engine, and a pair of noble horses straining every nerve.
Perhaps that may be all you know of a great fire until the next day.
Should you take a car, and follow anywhere from one to ten miles to the
burning building, you will find an immense, quiet crowd, kept out of
harm's way by a strong force of police, while in the cleared space
before the building the tireless steamers are at work, each of them
throwing two or three steady streams of water into the heart of the
fire.
Meg's papa told her all about this, and how seldom it is that a fire
nowadays has a chance to make much headway; but her visit to an
engine-house was the most comforting. There she saw the splendid horses,
and the engine in perfect order, with the wood under the boiler ready to
light; and the man on duty explained how the stroke of the alarm-bell
unhitched the horses, if they were in their stalls, and how the handsome
creatures knew just where to go to be "hitched up," and how eager they
were for their race to the fire.
Just as he was quietly showing them all this, a succession of
ear-piercing clangs were heard. Meg's papa knew what it meant, and
catching his little girl up in his arms, hurried with her into an
out-of-the-way corner. The still, well-ordered engine-house was
instantly alive with energy. The horses snorted with excitement, as they
backed out of their stalls and trotted into place. Hurried footsteps
were heard overhead and on the stairs, and in a moment several men were
springing to their stations. One turned on the steam and lighted the
fire; others made fast the few buckles required to attach the harness.
The driver was in his seat, the whip cracked, and away went the already
smoking engine at a tearing pace.
Meg trembled like a leaf when it was all over, and her father was afraid
that she would be more nervously timid than ever. But to his surprise
she said to him as they walked home, "Papa, now I've seen how everything
is done, I shall never be afraid any more."
And just after she said so they met the engine on its way back, for the
fire was already out.
NURSERY RHYMES.--_Continued_.
[Illustration]
Ring-a-ring-a-roses,
A pocket full of posies;
Hush! hush! hush! hush!
We're all tumbled down.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Little maid, little maid,
Whither goest thou?
Down in the meadow
To milk my cow.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Seesaw--Jack in the hedge,
Which is the way to London Bridge?
* * * * *
[Illustration]
As I was going up Pippin Hill,
Pippin Hill was dirty;
There I met a pretty lass,
And she dropped me a courtesy.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Goosey, goosey, gander,
Where shall I wander?
Up stairs and down stairs,
And in my lady's chamber.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
As Tommy Snooks and Bessie Brooks
Were walking out one Sunday;
Says Tommy Snooks to Bessie Brooks,
"To-morrow--will be Monday."
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Georgie Peorgie, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry:
When the girls came out to play,
Georgie Peorgie ran away.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
My mother and your mother
Went over the way;
Said my mother to your mother,
"It's a chop-a-nose day."
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Learned to play when he was young.
And with his pipe made such a noise,
That he pleased all the girls and boys.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
Now that the leaves are falling, and the wind is whistling round the
eaves and roaring down the chimneys, we must think of pleasant things to
do in-doors. Who likes to toss a bean-bag back and forth? We know of no
exercise so simple, so easy, and so well calculated to develop the
muscles of the arms and chest as this pretty, graceful game of throwing
the bean-bag. Take some strong calico from your mother's piece-bag, and
make a square case of any size you please, sewing it all up except one
little space, into which you must pour your beans. Having done this, sew
up that corner tightly, and your bag will be made. Two or three
bean-bags will be necessary if there are several young people to enjoy
the frolic. A good time for this special game is the last half-hour
before dusk, and if you can coax mamma and auntie to join you, all the
better.
Jack-stones are favorites with many children. Little silk bags filled
with rice are sometimes substituted for stones in this game. They make a
sweet and musical _swishing_ sound as they are thrown up and caught.
The little girls who have china dolls might make very cunning pen-wipers
by taking eight pieces of gay flannel or merino--from mother's piece-bag
again--cutting them into a circular shape, and folding twice, stitch
them around Miss Dolly, who will then look precisely like a fairy in
fluted petticoats.
* * * * *