Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-07-03

a pack of lesser animals, parked about it. There was dancing pavilion for the coun- try lads and lasses, foot races, horse races, egg and potato contests, and everywhere the blare of the local brass band Maple vile was nothing if not patriotic, and on this day it gave vent to its feelings without reserve. The long, dusty street, fanked by two and three-story buildings, was gay with banners and bunting oveEhung with the stars and stripes; men and women ln holiday attire laughed and chatted in the shade of awnings; awkward country youths and their blushing partners promenaded through the parks or drank cooling drinks at the booths on the corners of the streets; shouting and hustling boys fired crackers under the feet of horses hitched to rail- ings; and over all the blazing summer sun.
 This scene of patriotic merriment was turned to consternation as the cry ot lire rang out like a trumpet above the din and chatter of the assembled populace. 1t swept the crowd as hurricane sweeps prairie and songs and banter were changed to shouts of consternation. The Maybury store, the most pretentieus building ef the town, was ct once the center of all eyes. Up to the clear blue sky wound column of smoke, growing in volume with every passing second. Meh came running with axes, buckets of water and lengths of gar den hose, caught up as they might be from anywhere The volunteer hook and ladder company, the only fire organization oi which the town could boast, dragged their machine out of the city hall and came rat, fling down the street. But before anything vould be done the big wooden structure was wrapped in flames, and all efforts were turned to saving other buildings and hold. 8pg the fire in check.
 Suddenly, above the shouts and rushing of feet, the chatter of chains and buckets, and the crash of breaking timbers, there rose cry of horror,
 My father! My father!s It was Ellen Maybury's voice. She stood in the street before the burning building, her face lifted and her arms outstretched toward an upper
 father looked despairingly, The flames had already swept over the lower stories of that part of the building, so that to reach him from the street was impossible.
 Father, father!" she cried; "will no one save my father!" There was a moment ol intense silence Who could hope to reaeE him through that roar of flame and smoke: The tragedy of seeing human being perish before their eyes without hope of suceor paled every cheek, stilled every heart. Then 8 calm voice broke the stiffness. ~ Stand ready, men, to take him when he is lowered" was the order, andl a man, pushing his way through the crowd, sprane 1 across the space cleared by the heat and through the door of the burning store,
 "It is Fourth-of-July Pete," cried one ''He is mad" shouted another. The crowd stood breathless, waiting. At the rear oi l the long storeroom stood rack on which were wound coils of rope. Snatching one | of the spindles from the frame, Pete threw l 1t over his shoulder and &ought his way 70 stairway that led to the second floor. A moment later he reappeared beside the old man at the window. He thrust out his tanned face with it's frame of brown locks, waved message of hope to the girl stand- Ing below, pale with fright and emotion, pointed to the roof and disappeared with 1 the old man in his arms. A moment later ae was on the peak of the roof, running back and forth, seeking place where his burden could be safely lowered. There is one point not yet reached by the flames. Here he stands, and, making the rope fast about the old mans body, lowers him over She caves. Below, men rush into the burn ing air to catch and bear him away in safe- | ty the moment he shall come within reach, 1 Now he is in their arms and they struggle back, But the rope on the body detains them. "Cut the rope!" cries the man on the roof but they either do not hear him or are unable to obey. Then the man leans l forward and losses the rope from him. They rush back and the old man is out of danger. But the rope that might have \ served similar purpose for his preserver T trails useless across the dusty street. They look aloft. They see the vagahond, Pete.