“Oh, Neddie!” said his mother, whom he passed at the head of the stairs, her hands filled with valuables.
He did not reply, but dashed down, and out of the back door.
The whole west end of the barn, joining the wood-shed, was blazing. His father was already attacking the sliding carriage-door (fastened from within), with an ax, while a little group of spectators, anxious to help, stood about him.
“Where’s the key to this?” demanded a man, who was tugging at the padlock of the smaller single door.
“Under the step—I’ll find it!” gasped Ned, stooping and groping in front of the sill.
The key had slipped into a crack, but he drew it out, and put it to the padlock.
“Bob! Here, Bob! Here, Bob!” opening the door, he shouted, up the loft stairs just before him.
At his words the flames and smoke sucked down upon him, nearly stifling him.
“Bob! Here, Bob! Here, Bob!” he hallooed again.
But no Bob. With a sob in his throat Ned sprang across the threshold, only to be seized from behind and dragged back, while the flames, disappointed, licked after him into the outer air.