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Just then a cry was heard in the street.

“Hark!” exclaimed Mr. Aiken.

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” The startling sound rose clear and shrill upon the air.

Mr. Aiken sprang to the window and threw it open.

“Mr. Freeman’s new building, as I live!”

Mr. Aiken dropped the window, and catching up his hat, hurriedly left the house.

It was an hour ere he returned. Meanwhile the fire raged furiously, and from her window, where she was safe from harm, Mrs. Aiken saw the large new factory, which the rich man had just erected, entirely consumed by the fierce, devouring element. All in vain was it that the intrepid firemen wrought almost miracles of daring, in their efforts to save the building. Story after story were successively wrapped in flames, until, at length, over fifty thousand dollars worth of property lay a heap of black and smouldering ruins.

Wet to the skin, and covered with cinders, was Mr. Aiken when he returned to his humble abode, after having worked manfully, in his unselfish efforts to rescue a portion of his neighbour’s property from destruction.

“Poor Freeman! I pity him from my very heart!” was his generous, sympathising exclamation, as soon as he met his wife.

“He is insured, is he not?” inquired Mrs. Aiken.

“Partially. But even a full insurance would be a poor compensation for such a loss. In less than two weeks, this new factory, with all its perfect and beautiful machinery, would have been in operation. The price of goods is now high, and Mr. Freeman would have cleared a handsome sum of money on the first season’s product of his mill. It is a terrible disappointment for him. I never saw a man so much disturbed.”

“Poor man! His sleep will not be so sound as yours, to-night, William.”

“Indeed it will not.”

“Nor, rich as he is, will he be as happy as you, to-morrow.”

“If I were as rich as he is,” said Mr. Aiken, “I would not fret myself to death for this loss. I would, rather, be thankful for the wealth still left in my possession.”

Mrs. Aiken shook her head.

“No, William, the same spirit that makes you restless and discontented now, would be with you, no matter how greatly improved might be your external condition. Mr. Freeman was once as poor as you are. Do you think him happier for his riches? Does he enjoy life more? Has wealth brought a greater freedom from care? Has it made his sleep sweeter? Far, very far from it. Riches have but increased the sources of discontent.”

“This is not a necessary consequence. If Mr. Freeman turn a blessing into a curse, that is a defect in his particular case.”

“And few, in this fallen and evil world, are free from this same defect, William. If wealth were sought for unselfish ends, then it would make its possessor happy. But how few so seek riches! It is here, believe me, that the evil lies.”

Mrs. Aiken spoke earnestly, and something of the truth that was in her mind, shed its beams upon the mind of her husband.

“You remember,” said she smiling, “the anecdote of the rich man of New York, who asked a person who gave utterance to words of envy towards himself–‘Would you,’ said he, ‘take all the care and anxiety attendant upon the management of my large estates and extensive business operations, merely for your victuals and clothes?’ ‘No, indeed, I would not,’ was the quick answer. ‘I get no more,’ said the rich man, gravely. And it was the truth, William. They who get rich in this world, pass up through incessant toil and anxiety; and, while they seem to enjoy all the good things of life, in reality enjoy but little. They get only their victuals and clothes. I have worked for many rich ladies, and I do not remember one who appeared to be happier than I am. And I am mistaken if your experience is not very much like my own.”