She was close to the door of Mrs. Vincent's room,
and had already noticed that it stood slightly ajar, for a light was
streaming out, when--she stood for a second half-stupefied with
terror--what was it?--what could be the matter?--as Rosy's fearful
scream reached her ears. Half a second, and she had rushed into the
room--there lay a confused heap on the floor, for Rosy, in her fall,
had pulled over the chair; but the first glance showed Bee what was
wrong--Rosy was on fire!
It was a good thing she had fallen, otherwise, in her wild fright, she
would probably have made things worse by rushing about; as it was, she
had not had time to get up before Bee was beside her, smothering her
down with some great heavy thing, and calling to her to keep still, to
"squeeze herself down," so as to put out the flames. The "great thing"
was the blankets and counterpane of the bed, which somehow Bee, small
as she was, had managed to tear off. And, frightened as Rosy was, the
danger was not, after all, so very great, for the quilted under skirt
was pretty thick, and her fall had already partly crushed down the
fire. It was all over more quickly than it has taken me to tell it,
and Rosy at last, half choked with the heavy blankets, and half soaked
with the water which Bee had poured over her to make sure, struggled
to her feet, safe and uninjured, only the pretty dress hopelessly
spoilt!
And when all the danger was past, and there was nothing more to do,
Nelson appeared at the door, and rushed at her darling Miss Rosy,
screaming and crying, while Beata stood by, her handkerchief wrapped
round one of her hands, and nobody paying any attention to her.
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