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Then Bog saw the forms of men suddenly spring into sight, as if out of
the very roof, between the two fiery tongues. The tongues licked the air
about them with savage whirls; but the brave fellows dodged back, and
were unhurt. Then, advancing boldly again, they released their hands
from something which they had been holding, and lo! four jets of water
struck at the very roots of the flames, tripped at them, and made them
stagger, drove them twice into the roof, and caught them with deadly
accuracy as they came out again; and, in less than five minutes, changed
all their brave splendor to dull, black smoke, and set the victor's mark
upon them--the column of white steam which arises from the half-quenched
embers, and proclaims that the fire is put out of mischief at last.
"Nothing but a kind o' white smoke, now," said Bog.
Uncle Ith, who had just rung the last stroke of a round, relinquished
the lever, and looked over the shoulder of his nephew. "The fire's out,"
said he. "When you see the steam comin' up that way, you may know that
the water has whipped.


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