"I wonder where Rosy is," she thought, opening the door, and looking out along the dusky passages.
And just then she heard Rosy's voice, at some little distance, calling, "Nelson, Nelson."
"If she is with Nelson I won't go," thought Bee. "I'll wait till she comes back;" and she came into the empty nursery again, and wished Martha was home.
"She always makes the nursery so comfortable," thought Bee. Then it struck her that perhaps it was not very kind of her not to go and see what Rosy wanted—she had not heard any reply to Rosy's call for Nelson.
"Her voice sounded as if she was in Aunt Lillias's room," she said to herself. "What can she be wanting? perhaps I'd better go and see."
And she set off down the passage. The lamps were not yet lighted; perhaps the servants were less careful than usual, knowing that the ladies would not be home till late, but Bee knew her way about the house quite well. She was close to the door of Mrs. Vincent's room, and had already noticed that it stood slightly ajar, for a light was streaming out, when—she stood for a second half-stupefied with terror—what was it?—what could be the matter?—as Rosy's fearful scream reached her ears. Half a second, and she had rushed into the room—there lay a confused heap on the floor, for Rosy, in her fall, had pulled over the chair; but the first glance showed Bee what was wrong—Rosy was on fire!
It was a good thing she had fallen, otherwise, in her wild fright, she would probably have made things worse by rushing about; as it was, she had not had time to get up before Bee was beside her, smothering her down with some great heavy thing, and calling to her to keep still, to "squeeze herself down," so as to put out the flames. The "great thing" was the blankets and counterpane of the bed, which somehow Bee, small as she was, had managed to tear off. And, frightened as Rosy was, the danger was not, after all, so very great, for the quilted under skirt was pretty thick, and her fall had already partly crushed down the fire. It was all over more quickly than it has taken me to tell it, and Rosy at last, half choked with the heavy blankets, and half soaked with the water which Bee had poured over her to make sure, struggled to her feet, safe and uninjured, only the pretty dress hopelessly spoilt!
And when all the danger was past, and there was nothing more to do, Nelson appeared at the door, and rushed at her darling Miss Rosy, screaming and crying, while Beata stood by, her handkerchief wrapped round one of her hands, and nobody paying any attention to her. Nelson's screams soon brought the other servants; among them, they got the room cleared of the traces of the accident, and Rosy undressed and put to bed. She was crying from the fright, but she had got no injury at all; her tears, however, flowed on when she thought of what her mother would have to be told, and Bee found it difficult to comfort her.
"You saved me, Bee, dear Bee," she said, clinging to her. "And it was because I disobeyed mamma, and I might have been burnt to death. O Bee, just think of it!" and she would not let Beata leave her.
It was like this that Mrs. Vincent found them on her return late in the evening. You can fancy how miserable it was for her to be met with such a story, and to know that it was all Rosy's own fault. But it was not all miserable, for never had she known her little girl so completely sorry and ashamed, and so truly grateful to any one as she was now feeling to Beata.