“It smells bad just the same, don’t it?” she called. They had to raise their voices to be heard above the noise. “No, child, it’s the dust. Isn’t it dreadful?” Miss Eleanor called back, coughing herself. “But it smells just like smoke. How horrid it is! And how hot!” she added after a moment. “With the windows open, too! We’ll all take cold when we go out. They _must_ stop! Boys, boys! Hans, come here to me!” She rang a little bell that was the signal for quiet, and raised her hand. “Now I’m going to open the door, to get a thorough draft, and then we’ll quiet down,” she said, and pushed through the crowd to the door. As she opened it wide, a great cloud of brown, hot smoke poured into the room, a loud roaring, with little snapping crackles behind it, came from below, and Miss Eleanor suddenly put her hand to her heart, turned perfectly white, and half fell, half leaned against the door. For a moment the children were quite still, so still that through the open door they could hear the roar and the crackle. Then suddenly, before she could prevent him, little Pierre slipped through and started down the hall. With a cry she went after him, half the children following her, but in a moment they crowded back, screaming and choking. The stairs at the end of the long hall were half on fire! Miss Eleanor tried to call out, but though her lips moved, she could not speak above a whisper. She shut the door and leaned against it, and the look in her eyes frightened the children out of what little control they had. “Call,” she said hoarsely, “call ‘Fire!’ out of the window. Quick! Call, all of you!” But they stumbled about, crying and gasping, some of them struggling to get by her out of the door. She was trembling violently, but she pushed them away and held the door-knob as tightly as she could. Only Olga ran to the open window, and sent a piercing little shriek out into the quiet street: “_Fire! Fire! Come along! Fire!_” For a moment there was no answer, and then a frightened woman ran out of her house and waved her hand. “Come out! Come out, you!” she called. “Our stairs is burnt all up! We can’t!” screamed Olga. The woman ran quickly down the empty street, calling for help as she ran, and the children surged about the door, a crowd of frightened little animals, trying to drag Miss Eleanor away from it. “Wait,” she begged them, “wait! You can’t go that way—they’ll bring ladders! Oh, _please_ wait!” Her knees shook beneath her, the room swam before her eyes. The smell of the smoke, stronger and stronger, sickened her. With a thrill of terror, she saw big Hans drag a child away from the window, and deliberately pushing her down, prepare to climb out over her, almost stepping on her little body. Suddenly she caught sight of the Imp. He was pushing his way through the crowd valiantly, but not toward her.