to
recuperate sufficiently to do it again! "It's a gude warld, but they're
ill that's in 't."

Please excuse that Scotch--it slipped out. Please excuse everything.

SALLIE.

January 11.

Dear Judy:

I hope my two cablegrams didn't give you too terrible a shock. I would
have waited to let the first news come by letter, with a chance for
details, but I was so afraid you might hear it in some indirect way.
The whole thing is dreadful enough, but no lives were lost, and only one
serious accident. We can't help shuddering at the thought of how much
worse it might have been, with over a hundred sleeping children in this
firetrap of a building. That new fire escape was absolutely useless. The
wind was blowing toward it, and the flames simply enveloped it. We saved
them all by the center stairs--but I'll begin at the beginning, and tell
the whole story.

It had rained all day Friday, thanks to a merciful Providence, and the
roofs were thoroughly soaked. Toward night it began to freeze, and the
rain turned to sleet. By ten o'clock, when I went to bed the wind was
blowing a terrible gale from the northwest, and everything loose about
the building was banging and rattling. About two o'clock I suddenly
started wide awake, with a bright light in my eyes. I jumped out of bed
and ran to the window. The carriage house was a mass of flames, and
a shower of sparks was sweeping over our eastern wing. I ran to the
bathroom and leaned out of the window. I could see that the roof over
the nursery was already blazing in half a dozen places.

Well, my dear, my heart just simply didn't beat for as much as a minute.
I thought of those seventeen babies up under that roof, and I couldn't
swallow. I finally managed to get my shaking knees to work again, and I
dashed back to the hall, grabbing my automobile coat as I ran.

I drummed on Betsy's and Miss Matthews' and Miss Snaith's doors, just as
Mr. Witherspoon, who had also been wakened by the light, came tumbling
upstairs three steps at a time, struggling into an overcoat as he ran.

"Get all the children down to the dining room, babies first," I gasped.
"I'll turn in the alarm."

He dashed on up to the third floor while I ran to the telephone--and oh,
I thought I'd never get Central! She was sound asleep.

"The John Grier Home is burning! Turn in the fire alarm and rouse the
village. Give me 505," I said.

In one second I had the doctor. Maybe I wasn't glad to hear his cool,
une