“Here me is!” came a plaintive reply, and a tiny head leaned out of a second-story window. “I comed up for my dolly!”
A cold chill of horror crept over Mary Louise as she realized the dreadful peril of the child. But without a thought for her own danger she dashed through the front door and up the wide, smoke-filled staircase.
“Come to the steps, Ethel!” she shrieked, her throat choking with smoke. “Come here—I’ll get you.”
“Tan’t. Too smoky,” replied the little girl, beginning to sob.
Mary Louise took one desperate leap and dashed through the upstairs hall to the nursery. Grabbing the child in her arms she groped her way back to the head of the stairs.
She never knew how she reached the bottom of those steps. With her hand on the railing and her eyes tightly closed, she somehow made her slow progress. All she could remember was Jane’s voice at the door as she lifted the child from her arms. Then darkness—choking for breath—silence, and blessed unconsciousness!
When Mary Louise finally came to, Rebecca was giving her water out of her huge pitcher and patting her shoulder gently.
“Speak, Mary Lou!” cried Jane frantically. “Oh, say you’re still alive!”
“I’m all right,” replied her chum, managing a smile. “And little Ethel?”
“She’s fine. With her nurse. She’s back from across the river now.”