“I guess we’re both too sick to go out such a night as this.”  And they were soon asleep again.

* * * * *

When Punk heard the fire-bell, his heart grew bitter at the thought of the still bitterer night.  He did not think it proper for one of his conservative nature to violate all the rules of health and self-respect by going out in such rowdy weather.

He peeked over the edge of his coverlet, and saw that his stove was still glowing, and that his own room was not on fire.

Then he reached out one quick arm and pulled his slippers into bed with him, and when they were warm enough put them on his feet, wrapped himself up well, and, running to the window, raised it quickly, thrust his head out, and looked up and down the campus.  This quick glance satisfied him of two things:  first, that none of the beloved Academy buildings were on fire; and second, that he was never much interested in the old village, anyway.

So he toddled back to his cozy bed.

B.J. was sleeping so soundly that the fire-bell could not wake him; it simply rang in his ears and mingled with his dreams.  In the land of dreams he went to all sorts of fires, and saved thirty or forty lives, mainly of beautiful maidens in top stories of blazing palaces.  His dreamland rescues were as heroic as any one could desire, but that was as near as he came to answering the call of the Kingston alarm.

* * * * *

As for Sleepy, it is doubtful if the bell would have awakened him if it had been suspended from his bed-post; but from where it was it never reached even to his dreams, if, indeed, even dreams could have wormed their way into his solid slumbers.

* * * * *

Tug’s conscience, however, was giving him a sharper pain than he suffered at the thought of the night outside.  At length he could stand the thought of being found wanting in his duty, no longer.

He flung himself out of bed and into his clothes, his teeth beating a tattoo, his knees fighting a boxing-match, and his hands all thumbs with the cold.  Then he put on two pairs of trousers, three coats, and an overcoat, two caps, several mufflers, and a pair of heavy mittens over a pair of gloves, and flew down the stairs and dived out into the storm like a Russian taking a plunge-bath in an icy stream.  Fairly plowing through the freezing winds, along the cinder paths he hurried, and down the clattering board walks of the village to the building of the fire department.

He met never a soul upon the arctic streets, and he found never a soul at the meeting-place of the all-faithful Volunteers.  What amazed him most was that he found not even a man there to ring the bell.  The rope, however, was flouncing about in the wind, and the bell itself was still thundering alarums over the town.

Tug’s first thought at this discovery was—­spooks!  As is usual with people who do not believe in ghosts, they were the first things he thought of as an explanation of a mysterious performance.