Dear Enemy

I don't know what happened for the next few minutes; I turned away and

shut my eyes. Somehow or other they got him out and halfway down the

ladder, and then they let him slip. You see, he was unconscious from

all the smoke he'd swallowed, and the ladder was slippery with ice and

terribly wobbly. Anyway, when I looked again he was lying in a heap on

the ground, with the crowd all running, and somebody yelling to give him

air. They thought at first he was dead. But Dr. Metcalf from the village

examined him, and said his leg was broken, and two ribs, and that aside

from that he seemed whole. He was still unconscious when they put him on

two of the baby mattresses that had been thrown out of the windows and

laid him in the wagon that brought the ladders and started him home.

And the rest of us, left behind, kept right on with the work as though

nothing had happened. The queer thing about a calamity like this is that

there is so much to be done on every side that you don't have a moment

to think, and you don't get any of your values straightened out until

afterward. The doctor, without a moment's hesitation, had risked his

life to save Allegra. It was the bravest thing I ever saw, and yet the

whole business occupied only fifteen minutes out of that dreadful night.

At the time, it was just an incident.

And he saved Allegra. She came out of that blanket with rumpled hair

and a look of pleased surprise at the new game of peek-a-boo. She was

smiling! The child's escape was little short of a miracle. The fire had

started within three feet of her wall, but owing to the direction of the

wind, it had worked away from her. If Miss Snaith had believed a little

more in fresh air and had left the window open, the fire would have

eaten back. But fortunately Miss Snaith does not believe in fresh air,

and no such thing happened. If Allegra had gone, I never should have

forgiven myself for not letting the Bretlands take her, and I know that

Sandy wouldn't.

Despite all the loss, I can't be anything but happy when I think of the

two horrible tragedies that have been averted. For seven minutes, while

the doctor was penned in that blazing third floor, I lived through

the agony of believing them both gone, and I start awake in the night

trembling with horror.

But I'll try to tell you the rest. The firemen and the

volunteers--particularly the chauffeur and stablemen from

Knowltop--worked all night in an absolute frenzy. Our newest negro cook,

who is a heroine in her own right, went out and started the laundry

fire and made up a boilerful of coffee. It was her own idea. The

non-combatants served it to the firemen when they relieved one another

for a few minutes' rest, and it helped.