Ned was still striving to escape from under the scull-boat, when he was brought to the surface in a flash by his father’s commanding voice:
“Ned! Ned! The barn’s on fire!”
“Oh, dear!” wailed Ned, striking the floor in a heap.
“Keep cool, Ned,” encouraged his father. “And dress as fast as you can.”
Trying to force his eyes open, and collect his senses, Ned fumbled for his clothes. Now the night in his room was turned to day by a glare of red light, and he could see flames reflected in the mirror of his bureau. In through the window floated a sharp crackling.
“Oh, dear!” he groaned, again, his too-eager hands making sad work of his dressing.
He heard his mother’s exclamations of alarm, and his father’s replies to calm her; and without, echoed the feet of running men, the cries: “Fire! Fire! Fire!” and the doleful rise and fall of the water-works whistle.
His father rushed heavily down the front stairs, and the door slammed behind him.
Ned, his clothing only half fixed, instantly followed. As he flew through the back hall he glimpsed Maggie, wringing her hands, quite beside herself with grief and fright.