At this their father arose, and called out, "Who has guessed the charade ?" Not one had even thought of it, except to be sure, the author.
"Well, I have guessed it myself," said their father, as no one spoke.

"It must be 'welcome,' is it not, Rolf?
I will touch glasses with you, my boy, and thank you very much for your charade." Just as Rolf was raising his glass towards his father's to drink his health, a terrible shriek arose, "It is burning, it is burning!" Everybody ran from under the apple-tree; Battiste and Trine came from the house with tubs and buckets, Hans from the stable with a pail in each hand; all screaming and shouting together.
"The bush is on fire! the hedge is on fire!" There was terrible noise and confusion.
"Dora! Dora!" cried a voice of distress from the cottage behind the hedge, and Dora rose from her hiding place and hurried into the house.

She had been so completely absorbed by what had been taking place under the apple-tree, though indeed she saw and heard but imperfectly, that she had entirely forgotten everything else, and it was full two hours that she had been lying all doubled up in the gap under the hedge.
Her aunt was flying back and forth, complaining and scolding.

She had collected all her things from the drawers and the presses, and heaped them together, ready for flight.
"Aunt Ninette," said the little girl timidly, for she knew she had staid out too long, "you need not be frightened; it is all dark again in the garden; the fire is all out." Her aunt cast a rapid glance from the window, and saw that this was true; everything was dark, even the last lantern extinguished.

Some one was moving about among the trees, evidently to make sure that all was safe.
"This is too terrible! Who would have believed that such things could happen ?" said Aunt Ninette, half scolding, half-whimpering.