The Turn of the Tide
Copyright© 2024 by Eleanor H. Porter
Chapter 37
The Spencers remained at Hilcrest nearly all summer with only a short trip or two on the part of Mrs. Merideth and Ned. The place was particularly cool and delightful in summer, and this season it was more so than usual. House-parties had always been popular at Hilcrest, and never more so than now. So popular, indeed, were they that Margaret suspected them to be sometimes merely an excuse to gain her own presence at Hilcrest.
There were no guests, however, on the Monday night that the mills caught fire. Even Margaret was down at the Mill House. Mrs. Merideth, always a light sleeper, was roused by the first shrill blast of the whistle. From her bed she could see the lurid glow of the sky, and with a cry of terror she ran to the window. The next moment she threw a bath-robe over her shoulders and ran to Frank Spencer’s room across the hall.
“Frank, it’s the mills—they’re all afire!” she called frenziedly. “Oh, Frank, it’s awful!”
From behind the closed door came a sudden stir and the sound of bare feet striking the floor; then Frank’s voice.
“I’ll be out at once. And, Della, see if Ned’s awake, and if you can call up Peters, please. We shall want a motor car.”
Mrs. Merideth wrung her hands.
“Frank—Frank—I can’t have you go—I can’t have you go!” she moaned hysterically; yet all the while she was hurrying to the telephone that would give the alarm and order the car that would take him.
In five minutes the house was astir from end to end. Lights flashed here and there, and terrified voices and hurried footsteps echoed through the great halls. Down in the town the whistles were still shrieking their frenzied summons, and up in the sky the lurid glow of the flames was deepening and spreading. Then came a hurried word from McGinnis over the telephone.
The fire had caught in one of the buildings that had been closed for repairs, which accounted for the great headway it had gained before it was discovered. There was a strong east wind, and the fire was rapidly spreading, and had already attacked the next building on the west. The operatives were in a panic. There was danger of great loss of life, and all help possible was needed.
Mrs. Merideth, who heard, could only wring her hands and moan again: “I can’t have them go—I can’t have them go!” Yet five minutes later she sent them off, both Frank and Ned, with a fervid “God keep you” ringing in their ears.
Down in the Mill House all was commotion. Margaret was everywhere, alert, capable, and untiring.
“We can do the most good by staying right here and keeping the house open,” she said. “We are so near that they may want to bring some of the children here, if there should be any that are hurt or overcome. At all events, we’ll have everything ready, and we’ll have hot coffee for the men.”
Almost immediately they came—those limp, unconscious little forms borne in strong, tender arms. Some of the children had only fainted; others had been crushed and bruised in the mad rush for safety. Before an hour had passed the Mill House looked like a hospital, and every available helper was pressed into service as a nurse.
Toward morning a small boy, breathless and white-faced, rushed into the main hall.
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