"I just happened to go
into the club, and Mrs. Biggerstaff sent me after you! I don't
know--I guess it's not much of a fire!"
Nancy did not answer. She shut her lips tight, and turned her eyes
toward the curve in the road. Even while they rushed toward it, a
great mushroom of smoke rose and flattened itself against the deep
blue summer sky, widening and sinking over the tops of the trees.
Presently they could hear the confused shouts and groans that
always surround such a scene, and the hiss of water.
A turn of the road; Holly Court at last. Her escort murmured
something, but Nancy did not answer. She had only one sick glance
for the scene before them; the fringe of watchers about the house,
the village fire-company struggling and shouting over the
pitifully inadequate hose, the shining singed timbers of Holly
Court. A great funnel of heat swept up above the house, and the
green under-leaves on the trees crackled and crisped. From the
casement windows smoke trickled or puffed, the roof was falling,
in sections, and at every crash and every uprush of sparks the
crowd uttered a sympathetic gasp.
The motor, curving up on the lawn, passed the various other
vehicles that obstructed the drive.
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