of repair shops in vain quest of the old foreman. With Fred, too, by this time were his mother and sister Jessie. Poor little Billy, led home by sympathizing women, had told his story, and the brave wife and mother, leaving to the elder daughter the duty of caring for the house, had taken Jess and made her way through the now scattering crowd, through the still blazing yards, through the friendly lines of National Guardsmen, over the well-known pathway to the shops, there to take her place by her stricken first-born's side, tearfully, prayerfully waiting for tidings of the husband and father, even while devotedly tending the son. By 10.15 the flames about the buildings were extinguished, and the firemen turned their attention to the blazing ruins in the yards. And now the searching parties were raking through the burned-out sections of the shops in the belief that there, and only there, could old Wallace be found. Time and again, as some one came out from the grimy gateway, the sorrowing woman lifted her white, piteous face in mute appeal. Jessie, weeping sorely, was clasping Jim's blood-stained, nerveless hand. Fred had gone to join the searchers. Far down the tracks toward Prairie Grove the glare of new conflagrations reddened the skies. From up the yards near the warehouses came stories of fresh gatherings of the mobs. The police thought more soldiers should be sent there, and the Colonel said he had but one company left. Out in front of the shops an elevated iron foot-bridge crossed the freight-yards. It had been red hot in places until the firemen turned their streams and cooled it off. Then Fred's friend, the signal sergeant, with a couple of men, had mounted it, and sent their night torches swinging. "Hurrah for Colton," said the Colonel. "That boy's worth his weight in gold," for presently a bugler came running up to report the sergeant had established communication with Prairie Grove, and soon after with Captain Wagner's post far up the tracks. The first message from below told of fresh fires and outbreaks, as was to be expected. The first from above set the Colonel's eyes adancing.

"Police report rioters gathering in force about the Amity Wagon-Works. Twelve loaded cars on their tracks there. Think they mean mischief."

"Hullo!" cried the Colonel. "Where's Corporal Wallace?"

And poor, sad-faced Fred, just back from unsuccessful searching, and now kneeling by his mother's side, promptly sprang to his feet and approached his commander.

"What's in those cars at the Amity Works, corporal?

"New wagons, sir. Loaded yesterday and ought to have started last night, but they couldn't get anything out."

"I can't bear to take you away from your mother, my lad, until we hear of your father; but I feel sure, somehow, that he is safe, and the doctors tell me your brother will recover, though he may be laid up some time. It is more than likely we'll be called on for more duty presently, and if we are"—and here he glanced keenly at the young fellow from under the brim of his scouting hat.

"I'm ready, sir," said our corporal, grimly. "I'd welcome a chance," he added, as he glanced back at the group about his brother's battered form, at his mother's white face, and Jessie's weeping eyes; and just then Jim feebly rolled his bandaged head from side to side, and his swollen lips were seen to be striving to form some words. Eagerly the mother bent her ear to catch them. All others ceased their low-toned chat; all eyes seemed fastened on them—anxious mother and stricken son. Only she to whom his earliest baby lispings were intelligible, inexpressible music could understand his meaning now.