The house was strangely and awfully quiet as we rushed in.
I paused a second at the parlor door. Miss Warren lay motionless upon the floor, and Mr. Yocomb sat quietly in his great armchair.
A sickening fear almost overwhelmed me, but I exclaimed loudly, "Mr.
Yocomb, rouse yourself; I smell fire; the house is burning!"
He did not move nor answer, and I followed Reuben, who was half-way up the stairs. It took but a few seconds to reach the large, old-fashioned garret, which already was filling with smoke.
"Lead the way to the chimney," I shouted to Reuben in my terrible excitement. "Do not waste a drop of water. Let me put it on when I find just where the fire is."
Through the smoke I now saw a lurid point. A stride brought me thither, and I threw part of the water in my pail up against it. The hissing and sputtering proved that we had hit on the right spot, while the torrents falling on the roof so dampened the shingles that further ignition from without was impossible.
"We must go down a moment to breathe," I gasped, for the smoke was choking us.
As we reached the story in which were the sleeping apartments, I cried:
"Great God! Why don't some of the family move or speak?"
Hitherto Reuben had realized only the peril of his home; but now he rushed into his mother's room, calling her in a tone that I shall never forget.