The Camp Fire Girls in After Years Part 15

"Billy, Polly is still inside the house, locked in her own room. Don't ask me how I know it, I do. We have got to go in and get her." And Mollie started quickly toward the front porch, until her husband flung his arms about her.

"Wait here, Mollie," he said sternly. "You will do no good, only make things harder for me. If Polly is inside the house, as you say, I'll have her out in a jiffy."

Then he called to one of the men. "Keep Mrs. Webster here. On no account let her follow me," he commanded, and glancing about in every direction as he ran, he too made for the house.

a.s.suredly Mollie was right. Neither had he gotten even a pa.s.sing glimpse of Polly since the alarm of fire. But was it going to be so simple a matter to rescue her as he had pretended to his wife? For certainly if Polly had heard nothing of the tumult and danger surrounding her she must be already hurt and unconscious.

Once inside his own hall Billy Webster squared his great shoulders. The way ahead of him now looked like a pathway of flame and yet the smoke was harder to endure than the heat. Nevertheless go through it he must, since Polly's room lay at the head of the stairs.

She must be saved. Billy had a sudden vision of Polly from her girlhood until now; her wilfulness, her charm and her great talent. How stupidly he had opposed her desire to be an actress in the days when he had supposed himself in love with Polly O'Neill instead of her twin sister!

Well, now they understood each other and were friends and she should not come to grief in his house.

In his pocket there was a wet handkerchief. Indeed, all his clothes were fortunately damp from the water that had been splashed upon him in the work outdoors. Quickly the man tied the handkerchief about his mouth.

Then he took a few steps forward and paused. There was a noise of something falling from above; possibly some of the timbers of the old house were beginning to give way. Could they be under Polly's room?

But even while he thought, Billy Webster fought his way deliberately forward until he at last reached the bottom of the stairs and then his feet struck something soft and yielding. Stooping down, he caught up two figures in his arms, not one!

For in that moment at the head of the stairs when Polly had lost consciousness Bobbin had managed to half carry, half drag her on a part of the way. Then realizing that her own strength was failing, with instinctive good sense and courage she had flung them both forward, so that they both slid inertly down to the bottom of the stairs.

Instantly and without feeling their weight the man carried the woman and girl out of doors.

Poor Bobbin, whom in these last terrible moments they had forgotten! Yet she it was who had remembered better than them all!

Nevertheless, although both Polly and Bobbin were unconscious, neither of them was seriously burned. Yet Mollie was dreadfully disturbed. Polly had come to visit them on account of her health, and there was no way of foretelling what effect this night's experience might have upon her.

Here she was in her night dress, outdoors in the cold, when the rest of them were warmly clothed.

However, in another moment Polly was comfortably wrapped in a long coat and carried to the nearest house of one of the farm a.s.sistants. Bobbin too was equally well looked after, and as soon as she had been in the fresh air for a few moments the girl's breath had come back to her and she was soon almost herself again.

Yet by this time all the women and children had grown tired, for there was nothing that they could do. Five minutes before, Mollie's two boys and little girl and nurse had been taken away and put to bed by one of the farmer's wives. Moreover, real a.s.sistance was arriving at last.

In the excitement some one had been intelligent enough to get to the telephone in the dining room before the fire had crept in that direction. The town of Woodford had promised to send help. Even now the volunteer fire department of the village with an engine and hose carriage was trampling over the snow-covered lawns of the old Webster homestead.

A quarter of an hour later a physician appeared and also Betty and Anthony Graham. Afterwards actually there were dozens of Mollie's and Billy's friends who drove out in their motor cars to take the family home with them, or to do whatever was possible for their relief and comfort.

By this time the fire in the old house had been vanquished and the earth was filled with the cold grayness of approaching dawn.

Mollie would see no one but Betty, who stayed on with her and the physician in the room given up to Polly. Mrs. Wharton had been persuaded not to come, and Anthony Graham had gone back to town to make things clear to her.

"It is just like Polly to be such a ridiculously long time in coming to herself," Betty explained to her frightened friend. "I don't think it means anything in the least alarming." Yet all the time she was wis.h.i.+ng that the physician who held Polly's thin wrist, counting her pulse, would not look so deadly serious.

However, no matter what she might fear herself, Mollie must be strengthened and comforted. Her nerves had given way under the recent strain and fright. It was almost impossible for her to keep her teeth from chattering and she was unable to stand up. Notwithstanding, nothing would persuade her to leave her sister's room.

"For if anything serious is the matter with Polly, of course if will be my fault and I shall never forgive myself," she would repeat over and over. "You see, I forgot Polly; it was only Bobbin who remembered."

Finally, however, there was a sign from the doctor by Polly's bedside which Betty managed to intercept. Without a word to Mollie she slipped across the room to find Polly's eyes wide open and staring in perplexity at her.

"What on earth has happened, Betty?" she demanded impatiently, although her voice was so faint it was difficult to hear. "What are you and Mollie and I doing in a room I never saw before, with me feeling as if I had been out of the world and then gotten only half-way back into it again?"

At the sound of her sister's voice Mollie had also moved toward the bed.

She was distressingly white, her soft blue eyes had dark circles around them and she seemed utterly spent and exhausted.

Quickly Polly reached out her weak hand.

"What is it, Mollie Mavourneen?" she asked nervously, using the name of their childhood.

Then before either woman replied: "Oh, I remember," she said faintly.

"There was a dreadful lot of smoke in my room and I got to the door somehow. Bobbin was there and I can't recall anything else."

This time Polly's fingers clung tightly.

"Was any one injured? Was your lovely house burned down?" she inquired.

But Mollie could only shake her head, while the tears ran slowly down her soft cheeks.

However, Betty spoke rea.s.suringly. "It is all right, Polly dear. No one is in the least hurt. We were afraid for a while you had been stifled by the smoke, but you are perfectly well now. And Billy says the house has been saved. Of course, it has been a good deal damaged inside, but that can soon be restored."

Polly smiled. "Then for goodness sake do put Mollie to bed! She looks like a ghost and I am terribly sleepy myself. I have been ever since eight o'clock last night and I've no doubt it is now nearly morning."

Yet, as her sister and friend were tiptoeing softly away, Polly beckoned Betty to come back to her.

"Bobbin saved my life, didn't she?" she inquired gently. "I don't think I should ever have gotten down that dreadful smoke-filled hall except for her."

Silently Betty nodded; for the moment she did not feel able to speak, because the story of Bobbin's courage and devotion had touched her very deeply.

"It is like bread cast upon the waters, isn't it?" Polly murmured faintly. "It returns to one b.u.t.tered."

CHAPTER XXI

ONCE MORE IN CONCORD

BUT as Polly did not immediately recover from the shock and exposure of the fire, Betty Graham did not return home with her family to Concord.

Anthony took the nurse and children and Faith Barton accompanied them, in order to keep Angelique from being lonely, she explained. However, her real desire, of course, was to be able to see as much as possible of Kenneth Helm.

Nevertheless, the carrying on of her romance with the same secrecy as she had first observed was not so easy now, nor did it seem to Faith so desirable as in the beginning. Yet Kenneth still implored her to say nothing for a short while longer. In a few weeks perhaps things would be all right with him, so that he would have sufficient money not to worry over the future. Then, of course, they could explain the reason for their silence. In the meantime, however, perhaps they had best be a little more careful, for people were noticing their intimacy and beginning to talk. Indeed, Faith's chief difficulty was that her foster parents, Rose and Doctor Barton, had observed her marked interest in Kenneth Helm during his Christmas visit with them and had asked Faith if there was anything between them.

Naturally this placed the girl in a painfully trying position. She was devotedly fond of both Rose and Doctor Barton, who were in reality not old enough to be her parents, although they had always treated her like an adored child, giving in to most of her whims and wishes. But while Faith was selfish and considered her own dreams and desires of the utmost importance, she was neither ungrateful nor unloving, nor fond of deceiving the people for whom she cared. The trouble was that she was too much under Kenneth Helm's influence, else she would never have consented to keeping their engagement a secret.

Faith was not aware of the fact, but in reality it was Kenneth who had made the concealment of their affection for each other appear romantic and alluring to her eyes. Often she had longed to confide the news to Betty after Angel had proved so unexpectedly unsympathetic. However, having given her word to Kenneth, she felt in duty bound to keep it, and moreover she was the least bit afraid of him.

The real truth of the matter was that Faith Barton was more in love with Kenneth than he was with her. Not that Faith was unattractive, but because Kenneth was incapable of caring a great deal for any one except himself.

In the beginning he had been greatly interested, for Faith was pretty and full of a great many amusing ideas and ideals. Moreover, at the time she was a favored member of Governor Graham's family and might turn out to be useful. But Kenneth had no actual desire to marry any one for the present and had not at first taken their engagement seriously. Recently, however, discovering that Faith was desperately in earnest and that she might at any moment announce the fact to her family and friends, the young man had been extremely uncomfortable. More than once he had reproached himself for not having made a friend of Angelique instead of Faith. She was not nearly so pretty, but she was cleverer and she might have been more helpful.

Indeed, Kenneth rather admired the fas.h.i.+on in which Angel had kept her word with him and had not reported the fact of his presence in the Governor's study on the night of the Inaugural Ball. Besides she had never referred to his accusation against her, so there was no doubt that the little French girl was a true sport, whatever else she might be.