Two Fires Subdued.  
Barret, half ashamed of the wild anxiety he displayed, turned at once, sprang back into the burning house, and began to expend his energies in helping his companions and the men of the establishment to save as much as possible of the laird’s property.
 
While this was being done and the attention of every one was directed exclusively to the work of salvage—in which work Pat Quin shone conspicuous for daring as well as for all but miraculous power to endure heat and swallow smoke, Roderick, the groom, retired to the lawn for a few moments’ respite. He was accompanied by Donald, his faithful assistant, who was almost exhausted by his labours.
 
“Tonal’, poy, what iss it that Muster Archie wull pe doin’?”
 
“I think he wull pe takin’ the hoose!”
 
They had not time to make further inquiry, for just then the wind changed and blew the flames towards the part of the mansion that had been already burned, giving some hope that the other parts might yet be saved, and calling for the redoubled efforts of all hands.
 
Donald was right in his conjecture. Archie was indeed “takin’” the house! He and Eddie—having succeeded in rescuing the photographic apparatus, and, finding that no lives were in danger, and that enough people were already endeavouring to save the property—had calmly devoted themselves to taking photographs of the blazing scene from several points of view—a feat that was still possible, as daylight had not yet been diminished in power.
 
The change of wind, however, brought their operations to an abrupt close, for no idlers were tolerated. Even the women were summoned to stand in a row, and pass buckets from a neighbouring pond to the burning house.
 
The proceedings now had been reduced to some degree of order by Giles Jackman, whose experience abroad had tended to develop his powers of organisation.
 
The buckets were passed in uninterrupted succession from the pond to the house, where Mabberly received them at the front door, that being deemed the point where danger and the need for unusual energy began. He passed them in through the smoke of the hall to MacRummle, who handed them to Roderick and the butler. These last stood in the dense smoke of the staircase, at the head of which the tall gamekeeper, Jackman and Barret, were engaged in close and deadly conflict with the flames, intense heat, falling débris, and partial suffocation. The rest of the people, headed by the laird, who seemed to have renewed his youth and become ubiquitous, continued the work of salvage.
 
By that time the party of warriors who fought the flames was increased by the shepherds and a few small farmers who dwelt in the neighbourhood. These being stalwart and willing men, were a valuable accession to the force, and did good service not only in saving property, but in extinguishing the fire. So that, before night closed in, the flames were finally subdued, after about one-half of the mansion had been consumed.
 
That half, however, was still a source of great danger, the walls being intensely hot and the fallen beams a mass of glowing charcoal, which the least breath of wind blew into a flame. A few of the shepherds were therefore stationed to watch these, and pour water on them continually. But the need for urgent haste was past, and most of the people had assembled on the lawn among the furniture when the stars began to glimmer in the darkening sky.
 
“My dear,” said the laird, on finding his wife in the group, “it is all safe now, so you had better get off to rest, and take all the women with ye. Come, girls, be off to your beds,” he added, turning with kindly smile to the domestics, and with the energetic manner that was habitual to him. “You’ve done good service, and stand much in need of rest, all of you. The men will keep a sharp look out on what’s left o’ the fire, so you have nothing to fear. Off with you, an’ get to sleep!”
 
There was no hesitation in obeying the laird’s commands. The female domestics went off at once to their dormitories, and these were fortunately in that part of the mansion which had escaped. Some of the younger girls, however, made no effort to conceal a giggle as they glanced at their master who, with coat off, shirt torn, face blackened, hair dishevelled, and person dripping, presented rather an undignified appearance. But as worthy Allan Gordon had never set up a claim to dignity, the giggles only amused him.
 
“Duncan! Duncan, man, where are ye?” he called out, when the ladies and female domestics had gone. “Oh! there ye are—an’ not much more respectable than myself!” he added, as the butler answered to his summons. “Go and fetch the whisky bottle. We’ll all be the better of a dram after such a fight. What say you, gentlemen? Do you not relax your teetotal principles a little on an occasion like this?”
 
“We never relax our total abstinence principles,” returned Jackman, with a smile, as he wrung some of the water out of his garments. “I think I may speak for my companions as well as myself. Friendship has been a sufficient stimulant while we were engaged in the work, and gratitude for success will suffice now that the work is done.”
 
“Run, Donald, boy, an’ tell them to get some hot coffee ready at once! It’s all very well, gentlemen,” said the laird, turning again to his friends, “to talk of subsisting on friendship and gratitude; but although very good in their way, they won’t do for present necessities. At least it would ill become me to express my gratitude to such good friends without offering something more. For myself,” he added, filling and tossing off a glass of whisky, “I’m an old man, and not used to this kind of work, so I’ll be the better of a dram. Besides, the Gordons—my branch of them, at least—have always taken kindly to mountain dew, in moderation, of course, in strict moderation!”
 
There was a quiet laugh at this among some of the men who stood near, for it was well-known that not a few of the laird’s ancestors had taken kindly to mountain dew without the hampering influence of moderation, though the good man himself had never been known to “exceed”—in the Celtic acceptation of that term.
 
“Are ye laughing, you rascals?” he cried, turning to the group with a beaming, though blackened countenance. “Come here an’ have your share—as a penalty!”
 
Nothing loath, the men came forward, and with a quiet word of thanks each poured the undiluted fiery liquid down his throat, with what the boy Donald styled a “pech” of satisfaction.
 
Ivor Donaldson chanced to be one of the group, but he did not come forward with the rest.
 
“Come, Ivor, man, and have a dram,” said the laird, pouring out a glass.
 
But the keeper did not move. He stood with his arms crossed firmly on his broad chest, and a stern dogged expression on his handsome face.
 
“Ivor, hi!” exclaimed the old gentleman, in a louder voice, supposing that the man had not heard. “After work like this a dram will do you good.”
 
“Oo, ay!” remarked one of the shepherds, who had probably began to feel the “good” by that time; “a tram of whusky iss a fery coot thing at all times—specially when it is coot whusky!”
 
At this profound witticism there was a general laugh among the men, in the midst of which the laird repeated his invitation to Ivor, saying that he seemed knocked up after his exertions (which was partially true), and adding that surely he was man enough to take a little for his good at such a time, without giving way to it.
 
The laird did not mean this as a taunt, but it was taken as such by the keeper, who came forward quickly, seized the glass, and drained it. Having done so he stood for a moment like one awaking from a dream. Then, without a word of thanks, he dropped the glass, sprang into the shrubbery, and disappeared.
 
The laird was surprised, and his conscience smote him, but he turned the incident off with a laugh.
 
“Now, lads,” he said, “go to work aga............