“Fire! Fire! Fi—”
“Timothy Leavitt, where is it? Tell me quick!” his sister gasped breathlessly.
“In the kitchen. Fire! Fire! Fi—”
“The kitchen? What part of it?—where?”
“In the stove. I built it,” Timmie said in an aggrieved tone, but his eyes were glinting with mischief sparks. “I built it hours ago, an' you didn't get up—an' you didn't get up! I didn't s'pose we'd ever have breakfast unless I wokened you up.”
“You bad little boy! So you went and made us think there was a fire?”
“Well, there is—I built it, so there!”
Glory was still laughing periodically over their fright, when they got to the station to take the train. She had the picture of innocent-faced Timmie still in her mind, and the monotonous drumming of his little crutch, between his alarms, in her ears.
“‘Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!’” she sang laughingly. “Didn't the little scamp give us a fine scare, though! But he woke us up!”
“Oh, yes, he woke us up,” answered the Other Girl, grimly.