It had rained all day Friday, thanks to a merciful Providence, and the roofs were thoroughly soaked. Toward night it began to freeze, and the rain turned to sleet. By ten o'clock, when I went to bed the wind was blowing a terrible gale from the northwest, and everything loose about the building was banging and rattling. About two o'clock I suddenly started wide awake, with a bright light in my eyes. I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The carriage house was a mass of flames, and a shower of sparks was sweeping over our eastern wing. I ran to the bathroom and leaned out of the window. I could see that the roof over the nursery was already blazing in half a dozen places.
Well, my dear, my heart just simply didn't beat for as much as a minute. I thought of those seventeen babies up under that roof, and I couldn't swallow. I finally managed to get my shaking knees to work again, and I dashed back to the hall, grabbing my automobile coat as I ran.
I drummed on Betsy's and Miss Matthews' and Miss Snaith's doors, just as Mr. Witherspoon, who had also been wakened by the light, came tumbling upstairs three steps at a time, struggling into an overcoat as he ran.
"Get all the children down to the dining room, babies first," I gasped. "I'll turn in the alarm."
He dashed on up to the third floor while I ran to the telephone—and oh, I thought I'd never get Central! She was sound asleep.
"The John Grier Home is burning! Turn in the fire alarm and rouse the village. Give me 505," I said.
In one second I had the doctor. Maybe I wasn't glad to hear his cool, unexcited voice!
"We're on fire!" I cried. "Come quick, and bring all the men you can!"
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Fill the bathtubs with water and put in blankets." And he hung up.
I dashed back to the hall. Betsy was ringing our fire bell, and Percy had already routed out his Indian tribes in dormitories B and C.