Somebody seemed to be pulling her arm. What! Oh, she remembered they
were going to Marken, and she must hurry and get her bath and fly into
her clothes. "Yes, Mamsie!" she cried, flying up to sit straight in the
bed. "I'll get right up and dress; oh, won't we have fun!"
"Polly," said Mother Fisher. She had on a dressing-gown, and her black
hair was hanging down her back. She looked pale and worried; Polly
could see that, although she blinked at the sudden light. "It isn't
morning, but the middle of the night. You must get up this minute. Pull
on your shoes; don't stop for stockings, and slip into your wrapper.
Don't ask questions," as Polly's lips moved.
Polly obeyed with an awful feeling at her heart. She glanced at
Phronsie's little bed; she was not there! Mrs. Fisher threw the pink
wrapper over her head; Polly thrust her arms into the sleeves, feeling
as if she were sinking way down. "Now come." And Mamsie seized her hand
and hurried her through her own room without another word. It was
empty. Father Fisher and Phronsie were nowhere to be seen. And now for
the first time Polly was conscious of a great noise out in the
corridor. It seemed to spread and fasten itself to a number of other
noises, and something made Polly feel queerly in her throat as if she
should choke. She looked up in her mother's eyes, as they sped through
the room.
"Yes, Polly," said Mother Fisher, "it is fire.
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