But they stumbled about, crying and gasping, some of them struggling to get by her out of the door. She was trembling violently, but she pushed them away and held the door-knob as tightly as she could.
Only Olga ran to the open window, and sent a piercing little shriek out into the quiet street:
“Fire! Fire! Come along! Fire!”
For a moment there was no answer, and then a frightened woman ran out of her house and waved her hand.
“Come out! Come out, you!” she called.
“Our stairs is burnt all up! We can’t!” screamed Olga.
The woman ran quickly down the empty street, calling for help as she ran, and the children surged about the door, a crowd of frightened little animals, trying to drag Miss Eleanor away from it.
“Wait,” she begged them, “wait! You can’t go that way—they’ll bring ladders! Oh, please wait!”
Her knees shook beneath her, the room swam before her eyes. The smell of the smoke, stronger and stronger, sickened her. With a thrill of terror, she saw big Hans drag a child away from the window, and deliberately pushing her down, prepare to climb out over her, almost stepping on her little body.