And Laura, who had run down the room until she, too, was at the door of the office, knew whom the teacher meant. Poor Bobby Hargrew! She and her piece of burning punk-stick must be at the bottom of the catastrophe. But Miss Carrington really spoke as though she thought Bobby had intentionally set the fire.
“Oh, she never could have meant to do it,” cried Laura, horrified.
The girls had run from the door into the corridor and nobody but Miss Carrington and Laura were at the office door.
“What shall we do? What shall we do?” moaned the teacher, wringing her hands.
“Can’t we put it out?” demanded the girl.
“No, no! You’ll be burned! Come back!” cried Miss Carrington.
But the smoke had cleared somewhat now and Laura could see just what damage the fire was doing. It surely had started in the big wastebasket. If Bobby had flung the burning punk into that basket she deserved punishment—that was sure. Now the flames were spreading to the rug on which the basket stood. And they were charring the corner of the desk. Laura could smell the scorching varnish.
“Come back, Miss Belding!” commanded the teacher again.
But the girl thought she saw a chance to accomplish something. There was no use in waiting for the janitor to come to put out the flames if they could be quenched immediately. And no knowing how long before John would reach the room. He was not very spry.
Besides, to allow the fire to spread was both reckless and foolish. Laura saw just what should be done. She sprang into the room and passed the flames in a single swift dash.