THE ANTS’ FIRE-ESCAPE
It was not quite bedtime; for they had tea early at the Island, so that
after the fire was lighted in the big chimney the children might have a
little hour with the grown-ups for a game or a story, or for whatever
pleasant thing might happen.
Kenneth and Rose ran to get their fat cushions, and put them down in
the two corners of the hearth. Kenneth’s cushion was red, and he always
sat on the right hand of the fireplace. Rose’s cushion was blue, and
she sat on the left.
Papa began to poke the fire to make it burn more brightly, for it was
not so big and bustling a blaze as usual.
“Somebody forgot to fill the wood-box,” he said. “We need a nice crisp
birch log to make the fire crackle. Who wants to run out to the
wood-pile and bring one in?”
“I do!” cried Kenneth, jumping up eagerly.
“Oh, I do!” cried Rose, jumping up too.
“Well, you may both go,” said Papa. “And between you I think you can
bring in a good big one. But mind not to trip over it.”
Out they ran to the wood-pile, which was close behind the house on the
edge of the forest, where Rose suspected that the fairies lived, and
where Kenneth was sure that there were Indians. But neither Kenneth nor
Rose was afraid. They were very brave children, especially by daylight.
“Here is a nice little log,” said Rose.
“Oh, that isn’t half big enough,” cried Kenneth scornfully. “Let’s
carry this one, Rose. This is something like;” and he seized one of the
very largest logs in the wood-pile.
“All right,” said Rose; and she bravely stretched her little arms
around the other end. They tugged and they tugged, and they grunted
and grunted, and they pulled and pulled; and finally, after pushing
and hauling and rolling and shoving it, they got the log up on to the
piazza, where it fell with a _bang!_ Out came their father and mother
to see what all the noise meant.
“Mercy!” cried their mother. “How could you two children bring in such
an enormous log as that? Aren’t your poor little backs broken?”
“I’m not so very small. I’m ten,” said Kenneth, drawing himself up.
“And I am seven,” said Rose proudly.
“Of course,” said their father; “it is good exercise for them, Mama,
and will make them big and strong. Don’t you remember the story about
the poor little girl who learned to carry a cow upstairs, and so the
Prince married her?”
“Oh, how did she learn?” cried Rose eagerly. “Could I do it?”
“Why, you see, she carried the little calf upstairs every day--every
day of its life. Of course it was growing all the time, so that before
she knew it, the calf had become a big cow, and the little girl was
carrying the cow upstairs as easily as you please. Then the Prince came
along and married her.”
“That sounds like one of Aunt Clare’s stories,” said Rose.
“What did he want to marry her for?” asked Kenneth. “Princes’ wives
don’t need to carry cows, do they?”
“Well, I forget the rest of the story,” said Papa. “But there was a
reason; a very good reason indeed, if I could only remember it. There
always is a reason for things in fairy stories, isn’t there, Rosie?”
“Yes, indeed!” said Rose. But Kenneth sniffed.
Papa seized the big log in both arms as easily as the Princess did the
cow, carried it in and threw it on the fire, which spouted up with
a burst of sparks, like a fiery fountain. The bark began to crackle
deliciously. Rose and Kenneth cuddled down on their cushions, one on
each side of the fire, and watched the little tongues of flame lick the
old log greedily. They loved the fire. Usually it made somebody think
of a story.
Suddenly Rose cried out “Oh!” so loudly that even Kenneth jumped. Rose
was pointing into the fire, and her forehead was puckered with distress.
“Why, what is it, Rose?” asked her mother.
“Oh, oh!” cried Rose again. “Oh, the poor little ants! Do look!”
Sure enough! the old log must have been an ants’ house. The poor little
things were creeping out of the holes in it and scurrying wildly about
in every direction, seeking a way of escape from their dwelling, which
was growing hotter and hotter every minute.
The foremost of them tried to climb down the andirons. But these were
too hot, and soon they went scurrying back again. They grew wilder and
wilder, wandering about crazily as if they did not know what to do.
Their home was surrounded by flame on every side. Some of them tried
to jump down. But Rose shuddered to see the poor things fall into the
fire or upon the hot hearth and shrivel up into sad little cinders. It
was too dreadful!
“Oh, Mama and Papa, what shall we do?” she cried. “I cannot bear to see
them. It is just like a house full of people being burned, with nobody
to help. Kenneth, can’t we do something?”
“Ding-dong! Call out the fire-engine!” roared Kenneth, jumping up and
galloping to the kitchen for a pail of water. Kenneth was always ready
for a new game.
“Water will do no good. You cannot put out the fire without drowning
them,” called Kenneth’s father. “I am afraid the poor ants are doomed,
Rosie. It is like a crowded tenement house, isn’t it?” he said to
Mama. “The poor little creatures crowd together like people in the
upper-story windows, hoping for a ladder.”
“That is what they need--a fire-escape,” cried Rose. “Oh, I must make a
fire-escape quickly!”
She ran to the wood-box and seized a long, flat piece of wood. This
she took for her fire-escape, resting one end on the rug in front of
the hearth, and the other on top of the log which had now caught fire
and was blazing briskly. It made a nice little bridge from the burning
wood above the hot hearthstone. Almost immediately an ant spied the
fire-escape and started across it eagerly. Another followed him; then
another and another, until a constant procession was filing down the
bridge toward safety.
“Hurrah!” cried Rose, as the first ant reached the rug; but she stopped
suddenly. “Look at him!” she cried. “He is going _back_!”
Sure enough, back he was going,--back to the burning log. And all the
other ants were doing the same thing. One after another they returned
up the fire-escape, stopping to wave their feelers and make signs to
all the ants whom they met coming down. They must have told these last
something to make them change their minds; for every single one turned
about as soon as he was told. Presently it was plain what they meant.
The ants were coming out in crowds, and each was carrying something
white in its mouth.
“The ant babies! They are trying to save the ant babies!” cried Rose.
And that is exactly what they were doing. Eagerly the children watched
the crowds running down the fire-escape with their precious burdens.
Faster and faster they came, and the hearthrug was black with them when
Papa took it up gently and carried it out to shake it over the piazza
railing. How glad the poor little ants must have been to feel the cool
grass under their feet!
They were all saved at last, and it was high time, for the log was now
one mass of flame.
“I think you should have a fireman’s medal for life-saving, Rose,” said
her mother.
“Oh, _I_ ought not to have a medal,” said Rose modestly. “I only built
the fire-escape. But every one of those brave ants who came back into
the fire and saved the babies ought to have one.”
“Yes, we should call them Heroes if they had been men,” said Papa.
“They would rather have something sweet than a medal,” said Kenneth,
who knew a great deal about sweet things.
“Sure enough!” cried Rose, clapping her hands. “Mama, may I scatter
some sugar out there in the grass where Papa shook the ants?”
Her mother said that she might. So I dare say the rescued ants had a
jolly banquet that night to celebrate their wonderful escape. But I
suppose that the ant babies were too little to share in it.