There was nothing they could do, of course, to help put out the blaze. Nor did it seem possible for the men who had come from the ballroom to do anything towards extinguishing the fire. The flames were spreading madly through the interior of the cottage; but they had not as yet burst through the walls or the roof.
The cottage had not been torn from its foundation, although it had been sadly shaken. If it fell it might not endanger the hotel, for it was plain that what little cant had been given to the burning house was away from the larger building, not toward it.
Ruth and Helen had wet their feet already; but they did not care to slop through the puddle on the porch again, so made their way to the ballroom through the main part of the house. There was less noise among the frightened women and girls now than before; but they were huddled into groups, some crying with fear of they did not know what!
“Oh! is the house tumbling down?” asked one frightened woman of Ruth. “Must we drown?”
“Not unless we want to, I am sure, madam,” said the girl of the Red Mill, cheerfully.
“But isn’t the house afire?” cried another.
“It isn’t this house, but another, that is burning,” the Northern girl said, with continued placidity.
“Oh, Ruth! there’s Nettie!” exclaimed Helen, and drew her away.
In a corner was Nettie Parsons, crouched upon a stool, and the girls expected to find her in tears. But the little serving maid, Norma, had run to her and was now kneeling on the floor with her face hidden in Nettie’s lap.
“The po’ foolish creature,” sighed Nettie, when the chums reached her, a soothing hand upon the shaking black girl’s head. “She is just about out of her head, she’s so scared. I tell her that the Good Lo’d won’t let harm come to us; but she just can’t help bein’ scared.”