y and fastened it on to himself with rug-straps, and then he
slipped his arms in between the string and the fire-guards, and went to
the top of the stairs and shouting, 'Look out below there! Beware Flying
Machines!' he sat down suddenly on the tray, and tobogganed gloriously
down the stairs, flapping his fire-guard wings. It was a great success,
and felt more like flying than anything he ever played at. But Hilda had
not had time to look out thoroughly, because he did not wait any time
between his warning and his descent. So that she was still fluttering,
in the character of Queen of the Butterfly Fairies, about half-way down
the stairs when the flying machine, composed of the two guards, the
tea-tray, and Rupert, started from the top of them, and she could only
get out of the way by standing back close against the wall. Unluckily
the place where she was, was also the place where the gas was burning in
a little recess. You remember we had broken the globe when we were
playing Indians.

Now, of course, you know what happened, because you have read _Harriett
and the Matches_, and all the rest of the stories that have been written
to persuade children not to play with fire. No one was playing with fire
that day, it is true, or doing anything really naughty at all--but
however naughty we had been the thing that happened couldn't have been
much worse. For the flying machine as it came rushing round the curve of
the staircase banged against the legs of Hilda. She screamed and
stumbled back. Her pink paper wings went into the gas that hadn't a
globe. They flamed up, her hair frizzled, and her lace collar caught
fire. Rupert could not do anything because he was held fast in his
flying machine, and he and it were rolling painfully on the mat at the
bottom of the stairs.

[Illustration: Sidney threw the rug over her, and rolled her over and
over.]

Hilda screamed.

I have since heard that a great yellow light fell on the pages of
_Treasure Island_.

Next moment _Treasure Island_ went spinning across the room. Sidney
caught up the fur rug that was part of the wigwam, and as Hilda,
screaming horribly, and with wings not of paper but of flames, rushed
down the staircase, and stumbled over the flying machine, Sidney threw
the rug over her, and rolled her over and over on the floor.

'Lie down!' he cried. 'Lie down! It's the only way.'

But somehow people never will lie down when their clothes are on fire,
any more than they