XIX. THE STORY OF A FIRE

I was awakened by noises which seemed to have been going on in my head, and found that people were shouting outside, and that there was a dreadful smell of burning.

Rupert called and said: "Henny, dear, the house is on fire! Put something on and come quickly."

The people who were saving the things saved them all alike. They threw them out of the windows, and, as I had seen the big blue china jar smashed to shivers, I felt a longing to go and show them what to do; but Rupert seized me by the hand and dragged me off.

Jane was in the hall and said to us: "Where's Master Cecil?" I did n't stop to ask how it was she didn't know. I suppose we both looked up at the nursery window, and there was baby Cecil screaming for help. Other people had seen him, and two or three pushed into the house. They came out gasping and puffing, and I heard one man say: "It's too far gone. If got up there you 'd never get down again.”

you

I thought of the back stairs. There was a handkerchief in my pocket, and I soaked it in the water on

the ground. I think my idea must have been written on my face, for Rupert said: "Let me go, Henrietta!" I pretended not to hear, but he came after.

The smoke came rolling down the passageway from the front of the house, and by the time we got to the front stairs we could not see or breathe, in spite of the wet cloths over our faces, and our eyes smarted with the smoke. "Go down on all fours," cried Rupert, and I did. It was wonderful.

When my face was close to the floor there was a little bit of fresh air, and above this the smoke rolled like a cloud. I could see the casters of the table legs, but no higher up.

But in spite of the fresh air it grew hotter and hotter, and the smoke grew thicker. We could hear the roaring of the flames, and I never knew what it was to feel thirst till then.

I heard Rupert say: "O Henny, you good girl, shall

we ever get down again!" I could n't speak, my throat was so sore, but I remember thinking, "It's like going up through the clouds into heaven, and we shall find Cecil there."

After that it got clearer, and when we were at the top we stood up and found our way to the nursery by hearing Cecil scream. The great difficulty was to get

THE STORY OF A FIRE

43

him down, for we could n't carry him and keep close to the floor.

So I said: "You go first on hands and knees backward, and I'll tell him to do as you do, and I'll come last, so that he may see me doing the same thing and imitate me."

Baby was very good about it, and when the heat worried him, and he stopped, Rupert said: "Come on, Baby, or Henny will run over you.”

When we got to the door the people began to shout and cheer. It made me very giddy, and so did the ringing of those dreadful bells. I think I shall always feel sick when I hear hurrahing now.

From A Great Emergency by MRS. EWING.

These children had read a book which told what to do in emergencies, and when this emergency came they showed what is called presence of mind in remembering what they had learned.

XX. HEAT MADE TO SERVE

WE have read that light could be broken, bent, divided, and scattered.

Heat likes better to be led or conducted; but it will allow itself to be sent on errands just as the bright bit

of mirror sent light, only you must remember that we cannot see it go. Feeling must act as its interpreter.

The warm blood in our bodies comes from burning or combustion, and the fuel is our food. If one of you has warm hands and another is cold, you can join hands.

and exchange a little of the warmth. A bit of tin lying in the sunshine will get too hot to be touched.

Let us try to tell the story of the kitchen stove.

With plenty of fuel, soft for quick catching and hard for strong holding, a fire is built every morning in this iron box with many chambers.

HEAT MADE TO SERVE

45

The first result is that the stove begins to feel warm, which means that it has more heat than it can hold, and will give some away.

The water that was put into the teakettle set over the fire-box changes from cold to warm, from warm to hot, and, if it is not taken from the fire, will lift itself into the air in steam and leave the kettle dry. If it is cold out of doors, we may see tiny beads of water on the window panes, or feel it in dampness on the walls of the room.

Broken grains of wheat or oats in the hot water of the double boiler will soften and swell, so that the water will seem to be lost. Flesh of any kind will frizzle in burning, and, if allowed to come into touch with flame, will burn with great sputtering.

One of the compartments of the stove is kept tightly shut except on the side toward the fire. The walls of this become almost as hot as the flame itself, and the air is too hot to bear on the hand. To make this useful, a pan of biscuit or some potatoes are put in, and one who is cooking knows how long it will be before the heat has done its work upon them. If they are forgotten for an hour or two, nothing will be left but cinders.

After breakfast, if it were on a Tuesday, perhaps we might have a different heat story. Try to tell it.