One story was passed, another, another, and yet another. Who was this girl? How had she come to be on the top floor of the school at such a time? Had she set the fire and then, frightened at her deed, fled to a place of hiding?
The ladder swayed more and more. Then, just as he reached the level of the fifth floor it swung slowly in and came to rest against the sixth floor window ledge.
“Oh! Ah!” Johnny sighed.
Less than a moment after that, with one arm about the child’s slender waist and with her arms about his neck, he found himself descending. Far below the crowd was shouting mad approval.
“Listen, little girl,” he said, talking in the girl’s ear that he might be heard above the hubub of the street, “where do you live?”
The child started, then stared up at the burning schoolhouse as if to say: “That’s my home.”
What she said was: “Not anywhere.”
“No home?” Johnny said in astonishment.
The girl nodded.
Johnny was nonplussed. Here was a new mystery, and there was no time to solve it. At last he was at the base of the ladder.