The Girls of Hillcrest Farm: or, The Secret of the Rocks. Marlowe Amy Bell
helpless–that she was smitten with terror.
Was he dead? He had never been like this before, she was positive.
She tore open his waistcoat and shirt and placed her hand upon his heart. It was beating–but, oh, how feebly!
And then she heard the flat door opened with a key–’Phemie’s key. Her sister cried:
“Dear me, Lyddy! the hall is full of smoke. It isn’t your stove that’s smoking so, I hope? And here’s Aunt Jane Hammond come to see us. I met her on the street, and these four flights of stairs have almost killed her – Why! what’s happened, Lyddy?” the younger girl broke off to ask, as her sister’s pale face appeared at the bedroom door.
“Everything–everything’s happened at once, I guess,” replied Lyddy, faintly. “Father’s sick–we’ve got company–and the house is afire!”
CHAPTER II
AUNT JANE PROPOSES
Aunt Jane Hammond stalked into the meagerly furnished parlor, and looked around. It was the first time she had been to see the Bray girls since their “come down” in the world.
She was a tall, gaunt woman–their mother’s half-sister, and much older than Mrs. Bray would have been had she lived. Aunt Jane, indeed, had been married herself when her father, Dr. “Polly” Phelps, had married his second wife.
“I must–say I–expected to–see some–angels sit–ting a–round–when I got up here,” panted Aunt Jane, grimly, and dropping into the most comfortable chair. “Couldn’t you have got a mite nearer heaven, if you’d tried, Lyddy Bray?”
“Ye-es,” gasped Lyddy. “There’s another story on top of this; but it’s afire just now.”
“What?” shrieked Aunt Jane.
“Do you really mean it, Lyddy?” cried her sister. “And that’s what the smoke means?”
“Well,” declared their aunt, “them firemen will have to carry me out, then. I couldn’t walk downstairs again right now, for no money!”
’Phemie ran to the hall door. But when she opened it a great blast of choking smoke drove in.
“Oh, oh!” she cried. “We can’t escape by the stairway. What’ll we do? What shall we do?”
“There’s the fire-escape,” said Lyddy, trembling so that she could scarcely stand.
“What?” cried Aunt Jane again. “Me go down one o’ them dinky little ladders–and me with a hole as big as a half-dollar in the back of my stockin’? I never knowed it till I got started from home; the seam just gave.”
“I’d look nice going down that ladder. I guess not, says Con!” and she shook her head so vigorously that all the little jet trimmings upon her bonnet danced and sparkled in the gaslight just as her beadlike, black eyes snapped and danced.
“We–we’re in danger, Lyddy!” cried ’Phemie, tremulously.
“Oh, the boy!” exclaimed Lyddy, and flew to the kitchen, just in time to see the Smith family sliding down the plank into the laboratory–the two girls ahead, then Mother Smith, then Johnny Smith, and then the father. And all while the boy next door held the plank firmly in place against the window-sill of the burning flat.
Lyddy threw up the window and screamed something to him as the last Smith passed him and disappeared. She couldn’t have told what she said, for the very life of her; but the young man across the shaft knew what she meant.
He drew back the plank a little way, swung his weight upon the far end of it, and then let it drop until it was just above the level of her sill.
“Grab it and pull, Miss!” he called across the intervening space.
Lyddy obeyed. There was great confusion in the hall now, and overhead the fire roared loudly. The firemen were evidently pressing up the congested stairway with a line or two of hose, and driving the frightened people back into their tenements. If the fire was confined to the upper floor of the double-decker there would be really little danger to those below.
But Lyddy was too frightened to realize this last fact. She planted the end of the plank upon her own sill and saw that it was secure. But it sloped upward more than a trifle. How would they ever be able to creep up that inclined plane–and four flights from the bottom of the shaft?
But to her consternation, the young fellow across the way deliberately stepped out upon the plank, sat down, and slid swiftly across to her. Lyddy sprang back with a cry, and he came in at the window and stood before her.
“I don’t believe you’re in any danger, Miss,” he said. “The firemen are on the roof, and probably up through the halls, too. The fire has burned a vent through the roof and – Yes! hear the water?”
She could plainly hear the swish of the streams from the hosepipes. Then the water thundered on the floor above their heads. Almost at once small streams began to pour through the ceiling.
“Oh, oh!” cried Lyddy. “Right on the supper table!”
A stream fell hissing on the stove. The big boy drew her swiftly out of the room into her father’s bedroom.
“That ceiling will come down,” he said, hastily. “I’m sorry–but if you’re insured you’ll be all right.”
Lyddy at that moment remembered that she had never taken out insurance on the poor sticks of furniture left from the wreck of their larger home. Yet, if everything was spoiled —
“What’s the matter with him?” asked the young fellow, looking at the bed where Mr. Bray lay. He had wonderfully sharp eyes, it seemed.
“I don’t know–I don’t know,” moaned Lyddy. “Do you think it is the smoke? He has been ill a long time–almost too sick to work – ”
“Your father?”
“Yes, sir,” said the girl.
“I’ll get an ambulance, if you say so–and a doctor. Are you afraid to stay here now? Are you all alone but for him?”
“My sister–and my aunt,” gasped Lyddy. “They’re in the front room.”
“Keep ’em there,” said the young man. “Maybe they won’t pour so much water into those front rooms. Look out for the ceilings. You might be hurt if they came down.”
He found the key and unlocked and opened the door from the bedroom to the hall. The smoke cloud was much thinner. But a torrent of water was pouring down the stairs, and the shouting and stamping of the firemen above were louder.
Two black, serpent-like lines of hose encumbered the stairs.
“Take care of yourself,” called the young man. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with the doctor,” and, bareheaded, and in shirt-sleeves as he was, he dashed down the dark and smoky stairway.
Lyddy bent over her father again; he was breathing more peacefully, it seemed. But when she spoke to him he did not answer.
’Phemie ran in, crying. “What is the matter with father?” she demanded, as she noted his strange silence. Then, without waiting for an answer, she snapped:
“And Aunt Jane’s got her head out of the window scolding at the firemen in the street because they do not come up and carry her downstairs again.”
“Oh, the fire’s nearly out, I guess,” groaned Lyddy.
Then the girls clutched each other and were stricken speechless as a great crash sounded from the kitchen. As the young man from the laboratory had prophesied, the ceiling had fallen.
“And I had the nicest biscuits for supper I ever made,” moaned Lyddy. “They were just as fluffy – ”
“Oh, bother your biscuits!” snapped ’Phemie. “Have you had the doctor for father?”
“I–I’ve sent for one,” replied Lyddy, faintly, suddenly conscience-stricken