"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Fill the bathtubs with
water and put in blankets." And he hung up.

I dashed back to the hall. Betsy was ringing our fire bell,
and Percy had already routed out his Indian tribes in dormitories
B and C.

Our first thought was not to stop the fire, but to get the
children to a place of safety. We began in G, and went from crib
to crib, snatching a baby and a blanket, and rushing them to the
door, and handing them out to the Indians, who lugged them
downstairs. Both G and F were full of smoke, and the children so
dead asleep that we couldn't rouse them to a walking state.

Many times during the next hour did I thank Providence--and
Percy Witherspoon--for those vociferous fire drills we have
suffered weekly. The twenty-four oldest boys, under his
direction, never lost their heads for a second. They divided
into four tribes, and sprang to their posts like little soldiers.

Two tribes helped in the work of clearing the dormitories and
keeping the terrified children in order. One tribe worked the
hose from the cupola tank until the firemen came, and the rest
devoted themselves to salvage. They spread sheets on the floor,
dumped the contents of lockers and bureau drawers into them, and
bundled them down the stairs. All of the extra clothes were
saved except those the children had actually been wearing the day
before, and most of the staff's things. But clothes, bedding--
everything belonging to G and F went. The rooms were too full of
smoke to make it safe to enter after we had got out the last