But Paul had not waited to be urged. Up the stairs he was flying, as fast as his long legs could carry him, followed by Jane, Elise and poor Aunt Gertrude, whose only thought was for Granny, the twins having gone out to play early in the afternoon.
The smoke was already thick on the second floor.
“Elise, you and Aunt Gertrude take Granny downstairs,” ordered Paul. “Jane, you’d better not come up.”
“I’ll get a bucket of water. Oh, Paul! Your picture!”
“Never mind my picture—get the water quick!” And Paul dashed on up the stairs.
With his heart in his boots, he made his way to the attic, trying to hold his breath so that he would not swallow the smoke.
It turned out that so far as danger was concerned there was no great cause for excitement. Although the attic was dense with smoke, the cause of it was only a small blaze in the heap of rags near the window, which subsided under two bucketfuls of water.
Jane, whom Paul had not allowed to come up, waited for news at the foot of the stairs; but after he had informed her that the fire was out, she heard nothing more from him. After a few moments she shouted,
“Paul! Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” replied a muffled voice, in a tone of the utmost despair.