“Well,” thought Patricia, “now I certainly am alone here. The girls on the third floor are all up at Fine Arts making scenery for the play; and those from the second are ushering at the concert—all except Tiny.”
A little black-haired girl, whose size and delicate features suggested nothing so much as a lovely doll, had promptly been nicknamed by the girls of Arnold Hall. Nobody ever thought of calling her by her right name, Evelyn Stone.
“Seems to me I heard someone say she was ill. If I get this finished in time, I’ll run up and see her. No, I can’t either. I’ll have to stay with the Book and the telephone,” thought Patricia, writing rapidly.
Presently she stopped, sat up straight, and sniffed.
“I smell smoke!” she said aloud, getting up from the table and walking down the hall.
CHAPTER XIII
A FIRE
Patricia thrust her head into each room on her way down the corridor, but no trace of fire did she find until she reached the very end. There, in the room occupied by Frances and Katharine, flames were flickering around the window frames, apparently coming from outside. Quickly closing the door again to prevent a draft, she dashed to the telephone and called the Fire Department. Then she ran into her own room to look out of the window and see how much space the fire covered. The side of the house below Frances’ window was ablaze, and tongues of flame were creeping steadily up the frame building.
“Tiny’s room is directly over Frances’!” was the thought which flashed through Patricia’s brain.
Darting back into the hall and up the stairs, two steps at a time, Patricia burst into Evelyn’s room crying:
“Get up quickly!” She pulled the covers off of the astonished little girl. “There’s a fire.”