Mr. and Mrs. Grant were driving home after the festival when they caught the gleam of a wild, strange light in the direction of their own home.
"The house is on fire!" Mrs. Grant cried, with white lips.
"Rose!" the father answered hoarsely, and whipped his horse into a run. A quarter of a mile away from home they met the maid.
"Master, mistress," she screamed after them, "the house is on fire, and I'm going for help."
They did not stop for questions. Had "Nanty" also forsaken little Rose?
But they found "Nanty" at her post, though at first they thought she was dead. The mother pulled away the blankets from the little bundle beside her, and Baby Rose rubbed her chubby hands into her sleepy eyes.
"Where is I?" she said, "and what for you make morning so soon?"
"O Mark, Mark! she's all right," the mother cried, in a passion of joy. "'Nanty' has saved her;" and then she bent over the little girl in her thin night-gown, and took her by the arm.
"Nanty, Nanty!"