CHAPTER V

IT was but a few steps from Henrietta's door to Sally's own. Sally, her ideas a little confused by that exclamation of Henrietta's and by what it implied, walked those few steps softly and had her hand upon the knob of her own door when she found herself sniffing and realized that she smelt smoke. It was a very faint smell and she hesitated, even then, and stood there in the dark hall, recalling the fires that had been left. There had been no wood fire.

She took her hand softly from the knob. "I believe I'll just look around," she told herself. "It's a terrible night for a fire. I hope nobody'll take me for a burglar."

She went downstairs quickly, taking no pains to be quiet. If she were not quiet, she thought, with an involuntary chuckle, Uncle John would not be likely to think she was the sort of person that had no business to be in the house at all. She looked into the back parlor. All was right there. Then she opened the door leading into the back hall. The smell of smoke was stronger. She glanced into the kitchen. The top of the range was red-hot, to be sure, but that was not unusual enough to excite surprise, and the great old chimney, with its brick oven and broad brick breast and the wide brick hearth reaching out well beyond the range were enough assurance. The smoke must come from the cellar.

The cellar door was in the back hall, just at Sally's hand as she stood. She opened it; and was almost stifled by the smoke that poured out. She gasped and shut the door again quickly, and ran and opened a kitchen window, fumbling a little at the fastening, and drew two or three long breaths of the crisp night air, thinking how cold it was. Then she opened the cellar door again, held her breath, and went down.

It was a little better when she got down, although the smoke was thick up by the floor beams. Sally glanced in the direction of the furnace; and she saw, through the smoke, a dull red glow, with little licks of flame running up from it, now and then. The man had forgotten the furnace and had left it drawing. That pipe was perilously near the beams.

"The idiot!" Sally exclaimed. And she held her breath again while she ran up the cellar stairs.

She was angry with herself because her hands trembled as she lighted the gas in the kitchen and found the lantern and lighted it. The slight trembling of her hands did not matter so much in filling a pitcher with water and by the time the pitcher was full her hands were steady enough. She ran down cellar again, the lantern in one hand and the pitcher in the other; and she shut the drafts in the furnace as far as she could. She heard the flame roaring in the pipe and the damper was red-hot.

"Oh, dear!" she said, under her breath. "If there was only something to take hold of it with! And the beams are all afire. Well,--"

She threw the water from her pitcher upon the beams in little dashes.

"Oh, dear!" she said again. "I can't do it."

A quiet voice spoke behind her. "Better give it up, Sally, and rouse the people."

Sally was too intent upon her purpose to be startled. "Oh, Uncle John!" she cried. "You are a very present help in trouble. We could put it out if this was all, but I'm afraid it has already got up between the walls."

"Come up, then," Uncle John spoke calmly and without haste. "Never mind the lantern. I will rouse Patty and Doctor Sanderson and you get at Henrietta and your mother and the servants. Don't send Patty to the servants," he added, with a smile. "I will send in the alarm."

Mr. Hazen had forgotten Charlie. Sally ran upstairs. There was still a light showing under Henrietta's door and Sally went in.

"You'd better not undress, Henrietta," she said. "There is a fire and we may have to get out. You may have time to do a good deal, if you hurry--even to pack your trunk. You'd better put on your furs. It's terribly cold."

Henrietta was not flurried. "I'll be ready in a jiffy, Sally. Run along now."

Sally ran and woke her mother, telling her to get dressed quickly while she went for the servants. On her way up, she knocked at Charlie's door. She came downstairs presently, settled the servants in the hall, and went up to her room to help her mother.

Then the firemen came with a tremendous clanging of bells and shrieking of whistles, reveling in noise. Sally laughed when she heard them, and her mother laughed with her, rather nervously. The rest of it was a sort of nightmare to Sally and she had no very distinct recollection of any part of it. There was great confusion, and firemen in the most unexpected places, and hose through the halls and on the stairs. Fox and Henrietta had packed their trunks and Patty had two pillows and a wire hair-brush, which she insisted upon carrying about with her.

Then they were ordered out, and Sally found herself out in the night and the cold amid the confusion of firemen and engines and horses and ice. For both Appletree and Box Elder streets seemed full of hose, which leaked at every pore and sent little streams of water on high, to freeze as soon as they fell and form miniature cascades of ice on which an old man--a young man, for that matter--might more easily slip and fall than not. It was very dark out there, the darkness only made more dense by the light from the lanterns of the firemen and the sparks from an engine that was roaring near. They were throwing water on the outside of the house--two streams; and Sally wondered why in the world they did it. There was no fire visible. Perhaps Fox would know. And she looked around.

Their faces could just be made out, in the gloom; her mother and Charlie, Charlie with the bored look that he seemed to like to assume, copied after Everett; and Patty, still with her two pillows and her wire hair-brush, looking frightened, as she was; and Henrietta and Fox and the huddled group of the servants. She could not see Uncle John. There were not many spectators, which is not a matter for surprise. There is little interest in trying to watch a fire which one cannot see, late on a night which is cold enough to freeze one's ears or fingers, and the curbstone is but cold comfort.

Fox and Henrietta were talking together in low tones. "Fox," asked Sally, "do you know why they are throwing water on the outside of the house. For the life of me, I can't make out."

"For their own delectation, I suppose," he answered soberly. "It is a fireman's business--or part of it--to throw water on a building as well as all over the inside, when there is any excuse. Besides, the water, as it runs off the roof and all the little outs, forms very beautiful icicles which, no doubt, delight the fireman's professional eye. Think how pretty it will look to-morrow morning with the early sun upon it."

Sally chuckled. "I see them dimly," she returned, "but very dimly. They ought to have a search-light on them."

"I believe there is one," he observed. "They will have it going presently."

"Oh," Sally exclaimed; and she chuckled again.

Thereupon, as if it had been a signal, a brilliant white light shone forth. It happened to be pointed exactly upon the little group, but shifted immediately so that it illuminated the roof. There were great rippling cascades of ice down the slope of it and icicles forming at each edge and the water streaming off them.

Sally was silent for a few moments. "It is certainly very pretty," she said then, "and should delight the fireman's professional eye. I suppose that I might enjoy it more if it were not our house."

The moment's illumination had served to point them out to somebody. Mrs. Ladue touched Sally on the arm.

"Sally, dear," she said, "I think that we may as well go now. Mrs. Torrington has asked us all to stay there. Won't you and Henrietta come?"

"She is very kind," Sally replied. "I had not thought about going anywhere, yet. I am warm, perfectly warm. I have my furs, you see. I think I will wait until I see Uncle John, mother, and we can go somewhere together. I don't like to leave him. But probably Fox and Henrietta will go." She looked around. "But where is Patty?"

"Gone to Mrs. Upjohn's a few minutes ago. Poor Patty! I am very glad to have her go."

Henrietta had gathered the drift of the talk, although she had not heard any names. She turned. "I could stay here with you, Sally, or I could go if it would be more convenient. I am warm enough. Who has asked us?"

Mrs. Ladue answered for Sally. "Mrs. Torrington sent Dick to find us," she said. "Here he is."

Henrietta's decision changed instantly. "Oh," she cried, "Mr. Torrington! It is very kind, and I accept gratefully. When shall we start, Mrs. Ladue?"

Sally barely repressed a chuckle. "I'll stay, thank you, Dick; for Uncle John, you know."

"Good girl, Sally. I hope I'll fare as well when I'm old. Come whenever you get ready. Somebody will be up and I think we have room for everybody. Will Doctor Sanderson come now?" Dick added.

Doctor Sanderson thanked him, but elected to stay with Sally, and Sally urged Dick not to expect them and on no account to stay up for them.

Dick and Henrietta and Mrs. Ladue had scarcely gone when the roaring engine choked, gave a few spasmodic snorts and its roaring stopped.

"What's the matter with it?" Sally asked. "Why has it stopped?"

"Colic," Fox replied briefly.

Sally chuckled again and took his arm. He made no objection. The engine seemed to be struggling heroically to resume its roaring and there was much running of firemen and shouting unintelligible orders, to which nobody paid any attention. In the midst of the confusion, Mr. Hazen appeared. He was evidently very tired and he shivered as he spoke to Sally.

"I have done all I could," he said. "That wasn't much. Where are the others, Sally?"

Sally told him. "You must be very tired, Uncle John," she went on, anxiously. "And you are wet through and colder than a clam. Your teeth are positively chattering."

He looked down at himself and felt of his clothes. The edge of his overcoat and the bottoms of his trousers were frozen stiff. "I guess I am tired," he replied, trying to call up a smile, "and I am a little cold. I've been so occupied that I hadn't noticed. And I slipped on one of their piles of ice. It didn't do any harm," he added hastily. "I think I'll go over to Stephen's--Captain Forsyth's. He won't mind being routed out. What will you do, Sally? Why don't you and Fox come, too?"

Sally hesitated. There was no object in their staying any longer, but she did not like to impose upon Captain Forsyth. If she had only known it, Captain Forsyth would have liked nothing better than to be imposed upon by Sally in any way that she happened to choose.

While she was hesitating she heard a voice behind her. "Mr. Hazen," said the voice, rather coldly and formally, "won't you and Sally--Miss Ladue--and--any others--"

Sally had turned and now saw that it was Everett. She knew that well enough as soon as he had begun to speak. And she saw, too, that he was looking at Fox. She hastened to introduce them. It was necessary, in Everett's case. They both bowed.

"My mother sent me," Everett resumed, in the same formal tone, "to find any of the family that I could and to say that we hope--my father and my mother and myself--we hope that they will come to-night and stay as long as they find it convenient." He seemed to have no great liking for his errand. "It is very awkward," he added, with his bored smile, "to be burned out of your house at night and on such a very cold night, too."

"Oh, but think," said Sally, "how much worse it might be. It might have been at three o'clock in the morning, when everybody would have been sleeping soundly."

"That is very true," he returned. "I suppose you are thankful it was not at three o'clock in the morning." He looked at them all in turn questioningly. "Will you come? We should be very glad if you would."

Again Sally hesitated. Uncle John saved her the trouble of answering.

"I had just expressed my intention of going to Stephen Forsyth's, Everett," he said, "and I think I will. Stephen and I are old cronies, you know. We are very much obliged to you and I have no doubt that Sally and Dr. Sanderson will go, with pleasure. They must have had about enough of this."

Everett bowed. Sally could hear Uncle John's teeth chattering and his voice had been very shaky as he finished.

"Let Fox prescribe for you, Uncle John," she said. "I'm worried about you. What's the use of having a doctor in the family if he doesn't prescribe when there is need?" And then Sally was thankful that it was dark.

Uncle John smiled his assent and Fox prescribed. "I have no doubt that Captain Forsyth will have certain remedies at hand," he concluded, "and I should think there would be no harm in your taking them, in moderation."

Uncle John laughed. "He will press them upon me," he said. "I will observe Doctor Sanderson's prescription. Now, good-night. No, Sally, Stephen's is just around the corner, you know."

He disappeared into the darkness and Sally, with much inward misgiving, prepared to follow Everett. She was really worried about Uncle John. He was an old man, just upon eighty, and he had gone through a great deal that night and was chilled through, she was afraid, and--

She stopped short. "Oh, Fox," she cried. "The servants! I had forgotten them. What in the world shall we do with them?"

Everett had stopped, too, and heard Sally's question. "That is not difficult," he said. "Send them to our house. It is a large house and there is room for them in the servants' wing. Perhaps I can find them."

Everett was back in a moment. "That was easy," he remarked. "You need give yourself no concern."

They walked in silence up the long driveway, between the rows of shadowing spruces, and up the broad granite steps. Everett had his key in the latch and threw open the door.

"My mother did not come down, apparently. You will see her in the morning."

As she took off her furs in the hall, Sally was very grateful for the warmth and the cheerfulness and the spaciousness of the great house. Everett slipped off his coat of sables and led the way up the stairs.

"Your room, Sally--I shall call you Sally?" He looked at her, but not as if in doubt.

"Why, of course," said Sally in surprise.

"Your room, Sally," he resumed, "is down that hall, just opposite my mother's. The door is open and there is a light. Doctor Sanderson's is this way, near mine. I will show him. Good-night, Sally."

"Good-night," she answered; "and good-night, Fox."

They turned and she went down the hall, her feet making no sound in the soft carpet. The door which Everett had pointed out as his mother's stood ajar, and, as Sally passed, it opened wider and Mrs. Morton stepped out.

"You are very welcome, Sally, dear," she said, kissing her; "as welcome as could be. I will see Doctor Sanderson in the morning. Come down whenever you feel like it. It has been a trying night for you."

Sally's eyes were full of tears as she softly closed her own door.