“Come!” called Nan. “We must get out! The house is burning!”
“I’m going to take my dolls!” exclaimed Flossie, catching two or three of her most cherished ones in her arms.
“And I’m going to take my fire engine!” shouted Freddie. “If it was a bigger one, maybe it could put out the fire.”
“Don’t stop to pick up any of your toys!” ordered Nan. “But come with me!”
She caught the children, each by an arm, and fairly pulled them out into the hall. At the same time she cried:
“Can you get down, Aunt Sallie? The house is on fire!”
“No need to tell me that!” cried the old lady, who seemed suddenly to forget about her aches and pains. “I can smell smoke, even if I am a little deaf!”
She hobbled out into the hall, having slipped a warm bathrobe on. In one hand she carried her shoes, and in the other her half-filled valise, while under her arms she had bundles of her clothing.
“Land sakes, this is terrible! Driven out in the middle of winter!” she cried.
As Bert opened the front door to rush down the street to the nearest fire box he almost fell off the porch in his excitement, for, rushing up the front walk was—his father!