'Oh, I don't know! I don't know!' sobbed Lizzie. 'In the cradle, I think.'
Billikins simply tore upstairs. A great puff of smoke came out on the landing from the Jones's door, and nearly choked him. For an instant he hesitated; then he seemed to hear his mother's voice——
'Remember, Billikins, you are a soldier's son; you must never run away from danger, always face it.'
He rushed across the room, half-blinded by smoke, feeling the flames scorch him, he reached the cradle. The baby was in it. Already the flames were beginning to lick the sides. With a strong effort he lifted the baby, feeling the flames scorch his arms as he did so. Oh, the heat and the smoke that were stifling him! Would he ever reach the door? He staggered, and nearly fell.
'A soldier's son, a soldier's son,' seemed to ring in his ears. He staggered forward and reached the landing, to be caught in the arms of a splendid man in a brass helmet. And then all grew dark, and he knew no more.
When he woke he was lying on a strange bed, in a strange place; his head was bandaged all over the top, and his arms were all bandaged, too. He felt very weak.
'Where—am—I?' he said, feebly, and some one, in a white cap and a large white apron, came to the bedside and bent over him. 'Where—is—Mother?' said Billikins. 'And—who—are—you?'
'Mother will be here soon, and I am Nurse Katherine,' said a sweet voice, and a soft, cool hand was laid on Billikins' forehead.
He smiled gratefully, and then from sheer exhaustion he fell asleep.
When he woke again Mother was sitting by the bed, talking to Nurse Katherine.