“Quick, Jenny, quick! Help me to tear these bags to pieces. We must have a rope.”
They tore the bags apart, divided them, with the aid of their scissors, into long, narrow strips; then Becky’s nimble fingers twisted them together.
“Now, Jenny, I’m going to lower you to the shed; and then we’re safe.”
She fastened the improvised rope about Jenny’s waist, and bore her to the edge of the roof. She then passed the rope around the chimney.
“Once more, Jenny. Slide over the roof, and hold on to the rope.”
The rope slid through Becky’s hands, and Jenny was upon the roof below. Then the brave girl, casting loose the trusty cord, advanced to the edge of the roof, and, supporting herself a moment by her hands, dropped beside her friend. None too soon; for, while she clung there, up through the scuttle appeared the flaming head of the advancing column of fire.
It was still ten feet from the stable to the ground, and no time to be lost.
“Slide down the roof, Jenny, and drop again. I’ll hold you; never fear.”
She stretched herself flat upon the roof, with the rope in her hands. Jenny slid down, and dropped as directed. But now a new danger to Becky arose: the cord had become entangled in her dress; and, as Jenny descended, she found herself being dragged down the roof. But she held all the tighter to the rope, fearing the shock to Jenny, should she fall, more than the danger of being herself plunged headlong from the roof. Faster and faster they went; she was nearing the edge; she must go over. No. Suddenly the cord slacked. Jenny had touched the ground. She dropped the cord, clutched the gutter with all her strength, her body swung round, and she dropped to the ground, very ungracefully, but unhurt.
“O, Becky, you’ve saved my life! Can I ever repay you.”