Ruth made straight for the store-room, and filling her arms with a pile of blankets, she carried them to the door and threw them on the ground, ready to spread in the wagon. She then hastened to her mother's room, and found her pale and composed, trying to quiet Lou, who was sobbing hysterically.
"Mother, we're gone. Not a thing can be saved. Father's getting the wagon ready to drive us to the lake;" and Ruth began to dress her mother, slipping on a loose wrapper, and covering her with shawl after shawl as a protection from the scorching air.
"Try and gather up some of the clothing, Ruth, if there's time," said Mrs. Leonard, controlling herself into calmness.
Ruth obeyed, pulled a sheet from the bed, and crowded into it such articles as were nearest at hand.
"Oh, mother!" screamed Lou, and hid her face, as a blinding smoke burst into the room enveloping the place in darkness.
"We must go," Ruth, cried, as she snatched her mother up in her arms, and stepped firmly toward the door, clasping her burden tight to her breast, and followed by Lou, clinging frantically to her skirts.
Hurriedly Ruth groped her way down the staircase and through the lower rooms, stumbling over the furniture, until they reached the scorching blast without. Upon emerging from the house a burning shower of cinders met them.
Not a sign of father or the wagon.
"Come, put your dress over your head, Lou," panted Ruth, whose hands were smarting with pain.
There was not a moment to be lost. They must flee somewhere, for the house was already ablaze. An awful yellow glare lit up the dense darkness, and on every side the crash of falling trees filled the air with a terrible din. On they rushed through the blistering heat, scarcely knowing where, Ruth still bearing her precious burden, and the children clinging to her in wild despair.