aning against the
wall while the room was fast filling with smoke and the pungent odor of
burning pine.

Suddenly, some one at her elbow deliberately called "Fire! Fire!" These
were the same ominous words she had heard Thanksgiving night, only they
seemed now more alarming, more threatening. Who could be so foolish, so
ill-advised as to scream those agitating words in a roomful of girls and
boys already keyed up to a high pitch of excitement? Anne turned quickly
and confronted Miriam.

"Don't do that!" exclaimed Anne. "You will only make matters worse."

Miriam looked at her scornfully, although it was evident she had not
noticed her before.

"Be quiet, spy," she hissed, "and don't make trouble."

"I suspect you of making a great deal," returned Anne, calmly.

She was not afraid of this passionate, spoiled girl, and only the fact
that Miriam was the sister of David, her devoted friend, kept Anne from
saying more.

In another moment, the entire Christmas tree was in a bright blaze. Anne
had climbed up to a chair, and thence to the table that the crowd had
pushed against her as it ran. Anne was about to leap to the floor when
Grace and Tom Gray dashed in with an armful apiece of wet blankets. With
the help of the others they spread the blankets over the burning tree
and the blaze was extinguished almost as soon as it was born.

"No harm has been done," said Tom. "The canvas covering saved the floor
and fortunately all the furniture has been taken out anyhow. It's all
right, Aunt Rose. Nobody hurt; nothing damaged. I never heard of a more
accommodating fire in my life."

"Open the windows now and let out the smoke," ordered Mrs. Gray, "and,
if you have all finished eating, I think you had better come into the
drawing room while the servants clear out this debris. Tom, please tell
the musicians to play a waltz. I do not want my guests to carry away any
unpleasant impressions of this house."

The music struck up and the dance began again.

"Well," said Grace, "no one need feel badly about the fire, because a
Christmas tree generally has to be burned, anyway, and nothing of value
but the ornaments was destroyed. So everything is all right."

"It was all my fault," exclaimed David, in a contrite voice. "Mrs. Gray,
you will have to forgive me before I can enjoy a clear conscience again.
If it hadn't been for that lumbering sophomore, Julia Crosby, I should
never have lost my temper the way I did."

"My dear Davi