The Burning Cottage.

It was at half-past nine on a dark April night that all the excitement began.
The village of Peterswood was perfectly quiet and peaceful, except for a dog barking somewhere. Then suddenly, to the west of the village, a great light flared up.
Larry Daykin was just getting into bed when he saw it. He had pulled back his curtains so that the daylight would wake him, and he suddenly saw the flare to the west.
"Golly! What's that!" he said. He called to his sister. "Daisy! I say, come here and look. There's a funny flare-up down in the village somewhere."
His sister came into the bedroom in her nightdress. She looked out of the window.
"It's a fire!" she said. "It looks pretty big, doesn't it? I wonder what it is. Do you think it's some one's house on fire?"
"We'd better go and see," said Larry, excited. "Let's get dressed again. Mummy and Daddy are out, so they won't know anything about the fire. Come on, hurry."
Larry and Daisy dressed quickly, and then ran down the stairs and out into the dark garden. As they went down the lane they passed another house, and heard the sound of hurrying footsteps coming down the drive there.
"It's Pip, I bet," said Larry, and shone his torch up the drive. The light picked out a boy about his own age, and with him a small girl of about eight.
"Hallo, Bets! You coming too?" called Daisy, surprised. "I should have thought you'd have been asleep."
"Larry!" called Pip. "It's a fire, isn't it? Whose house is burning, do you think? Will they send for the fire-engine?"
"The house will be burnt down before the firemen come
all the way from the next village!" said Larry. "Come on - it looks as if it's down Haycock Lane."
They all ran on together. Some of the villagers had seen" the glare too, and were running down the lane as well. It was exciting.
"It's Mr. Hick's house," said a man. "Sure as anything it's his house."
They all poured down to the end of the lane. The glare became higher and brighter.
"It's not the house!" cried Larry. "It's the cottage he works in, in the garden - his workroom. Golly, there won't be much left of it!"
There certainly wouldn't. The place was old, half-timbered and thatched, and the dry straw of the roof was blazing strongly.
Mr. Goon, the village policeman, was there, directing men to throw water on the flames. He saw the children and shouted at them.
"Clear orf, you! Clear orf!"
"That's what he always says to children," said Bets. "I've never heard him say anything else."
It was not the least use throwing pails of water on the flames. The policeman yelled for the chauffeur.
"Where's Mr. Thomas? Tell him to get out the hosepipe he uses to clean the car."
"Mr. Thomas has gone to fetch the master," shouted a woman's voice. "He's gone to the station to meet the London train!"
It was Mrs. Minns, the cook, speaking. She was a fat, comfortable-looking person, who was in a very scared state now. She filled pails of water from a tap, her hands trembling.
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