“I’ll just have a peep,” Keith explained, turning to her for a moment.  Then he made for the open door again.

The landing with its bare stone floor was familiar to him and quite barren of interest.  What drew him magnetically was the tall archway leading to the mysterious upper regions known as the garret, where strange old women lived in hermit cells, and whence disturbing noises issued day and night.  Even as he looked up there, he could hear a spookish grating that seemed to symbolize the spirit of the place.  He shuddered a little, but not unpleasantly, for he knew what caused it.

In the brick wall ending the upward vista, he could see a square open hole with an iron shutter held open at right angles by an iron rod.  As the wind shook the shutter, the rod scraped against the socket that held its hooked end.  That was all—­but on dark winter afternoons the effect was most disturbing.

“I’m not afraid,” Keith announced, sensing his own bravery rather keenly.

“Why should you be,” asked Granny.

Then he noticed the tall iron door fastened to one side of the arch in front of it.  Now it was doubled up length-wise and folded back so as to leave the passage free.

“What’s that for,” he asked, pointing to the door.

“In case of fire,” said Granny.  “If it should begin to burn up there, they would close that door to keep the flames from the rest of the house.”

“Would it burn much,” Keith wondered.

“Your father has five cords of good birch wood stored in the top attic, so I think the whole city would see the blaze.”

“And the people up there?”

“They would have to come before we closed the doors, but God have mercy on us if it ever gets that far.  Remember, boy, there is nothing worse than fire so you must always be careful never play with matches.”

“I know,” said Keith, nodding sagely.

But he really did not know what fire meant until a few nights later.  The whole family was sound asleep, Keith on the chaiselongue, his father and mother in the big bed on the other side of the room.  While still half asleep he could hear his mother crying his father’s name in a strangely agitated voice.

Then he woke fully and looked up.  Every object in the room was clearly visible, but the light coming through the windows was not daylight.  It was reddish and glaring, and the very reflection of it within the room filled the boy with vague uneasiness.

The father jumped out of bed and ran to the window.

“It is fire,” he said.  “Something terrible.  My Lord, half the town must be burning.  The whole sky is a mass of flames.  And it’s in the direction of the bank.”

Suddenly he turned back and began to dress in wordless haste.

“Must we get out,” asked the mother.

“No, it is not very close yet, but you had better get up and dress—­and get everybody dressed.”