The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1897-02-02

/ t6IIlDl6 CuUIuS VI lH0 udlu6S 1du6u Will
tones of hate and death, a hymn Of
wonderful ferocity.
He flung blanket over an old mare g
head, cut the halter close to the manger,
led the mare to the door and fairly kick
ed her out to safety. He returned with
the same blanket and rescued one of the
work horses. He took five horses out
and then came out himself with his
clothes bravely on fire. He had no whisk-
ers and very little hair on his head
They soused five pailfuls of water on
him. His eldest son made clean miss
with the sixth pailful because the old
man had turned and was running down
the decline and around to the basement
of the barn, where were the stanchions
of COWS. Some one noticed at the time
that he ran very lamely, as if one of the
frenzied horses had smashed his hip.
The COWS, with their heads held in
the heavy stanchions, had thrown them
selves, strangled themselves, tangled
themselves-done everything which the
ingenuity of their exuberant fear could
suggest to them.
Here, as at the well, the same thing
happened to every man save one. Their
hands went mad They became incapa-
bic of everything save the power to rush
into dangerous situations.
The old man released the COW nearest
the door, and she, blind drunk with
terror, crashed into the Swede The
Swede had been running to and fro,
babbling. He carried an empty milk
pail, to which he chung with an uncon-
scious fierce enthusiasm. He shrieked
like one lost as he went under the COW g
hoofs, and the milk pail, rolling across
the floor, made fash of silver in the
gloom.
Old Fleming took a fork, beat off the
COW and dragged the paralyzed Swede
to the open air. When they had rescued
all the COWS save one, which had SO
fastened herself that she could not be
moved an inch, they returned to the
front of the barn and stood sadly, breath
ing like men who had reached the final
point of human effort.
Many people had come running. Some
one had even gone to the church, and
now, from the distance, rang the tocsin
note of the old bell. There was long
fare of crimson on the sky, which made
remote people speculate as to the where
abouts of the fire.
The long flames sang their drumming
chorus in voices of the heaviest bass.
The wind whirled clouds of smoke and
binders into the faces of the spectators
The form of the old barn was outlined
in black amid these masses of orange
hued flames
And then came this Swede again,
crying as one who is the weapon of the
sinister fates: ''De coltsl De coltsl You
have forgot de coltsl''
Old Fleming staggered. 1t was true
they had forgotten the two colts in the
box stalls at the back of the barn.
Boys" he said, Unjust try to get 'em
out. They clamored about him then,
afraid for him, afraid of what they
should see. Then they talked wildly
each to each. "Why, it's sure deathp'
''He would never get outl' ''Why, it's
suicide for man to go in thereI' Old
Fleming stared absentmindedly at the
open doors. "The poor little things, :"
he said. He rushed into the barn.
When the roof fell in, a great funnel
of smoke swarmed toward the sky as if
the old mans mighty spirit, released
from its body-a little bottle-had
swelled like the genius of fable. The
smoke was tinted rose hue from the
flames, and perhaps the unutterable mid
nights of the universe will have no
power to daunt the color of this soul. -
Stephen Crane in St. James Budget.