Dick and Dolly

“It’s an awful blister,” said Dick, looking at it. “But how did the fire start, Dollums? Did you do it?”

“Yes,” said Dolly, “but I didn’t mean to burn up the cottage.” And then, as Michael and Pat were removing the big rug, and she saw the dreadful devastation of the beautiful dolls’ house, she burst into paroxysms of weeping.

Pinkie did the same, and as the aunts were both softly crying, too, Dick and Jack had to be very careful lest they join the majority.

“Go downstairs, all of yez,” said Michael, again, who had, by reason of his common sense, assumed dictatorship. “Oh, are ye there, Hannah? Take the ladies down, and mend up Miss Dolly’s finger. Boys, ye can shtay, if ye like, but the rest of yez must go.”

Obediently, the aunties followed Hannah, who led the weeping Dolly, and with Pinkie trailing along behind, they went downstairs.

“Now, boys,” said Michael, “ye can help if ye like, an’ ye needn’t, if ye don’t like. Pat an’ me, we’ll clear out this burnt shtuff, but Mashter Dick, suppose ye look about now, an’ see if anny of the toys is worth savin’.”

So Dick and Jack picked out some few things that the flames hadn’t destroyed. But only china or metal toys escaped utter destruction, and these were so smoked and charred, that they weren’t much good. Pinkie’s hat and jacket were scorched, but Jack laid them aside, and the work of salvage went on.

“There now, ye’d betther go,” said Michael; “ye’re good boys, an’ ye’ve helped a lot, but now, me’n Pat, we’ll cart this shtuff down oursilves. An’ be the same token, I’m thinkin’ we’ll dump it out the windy, – that bein’ the quickest way.”

So Dick and Jack ran downstairs, really anxious to join the girls and find out how it all came about.

CHAPTER XVIII

A LOVELY PLAN

When the boys reached the group assembled in the library, Dolly had just begun to tell the story of the fire.

Up to that time, the aunts had been employed in dressing the burned finger, and in recovering their own mental poise.

“You see,” Dolly was saying, “it was an accident, Aunt Rachel, but it wasn’t mischief, for you told me yourself how you used to make a fire in that little stove.”

“Oh,” said Aunt Rachel, comprehending at last. “Did you girls make a fire in the playhouse stove?”

“Yes’m; the pipe was up, you know, and it burned all right, – it hardly smoked at all. Then one of the paper dolls fell against it and set fire to all the rest.”

“The stove got so awful hot,” observed Pinkie, “and it was trying to pick up that paper doll that Dolly burned her finger.”

“And upset the stove?” asked Aunt Abbie.

“No, Auntie, the stove didn’t upset. But Mrs. Obbercrombie caught ablaze, and then she fell over against the other paper people, and they all flared up.”

“Whew, Dolly!” exclaimed Dick. “Then you kindled that whole fire yourself! You ought to have known better than to stuff a place with paper dolls and then set a match to it!”

“But I didn’t, Dick,” declared Dolly. “The fire was all right at first, only it kept making the little stove hotter and hotter, until it went off.”

“Well, it’s lucky Dick heard you yell,” put in Jack, “or the whole of the big house would have burned as well as the little one.”

“I don’t know what to say to you, Dolly,” said Aunt Rachel. “I remember that I did tell you I used to have a fire in that stove, but I only burned a tiny bit of paper and let it go right out. I never thought of a continued fire. And I really think you ought to have realised the danger of a fire near so much light paper.”

“Why, I never once thought of that, Aunt Rachel. I never s’posed fire could jump through an iron stove, and burn up a paper doll! I thought if we kept the little door shut, the flames would stay inside.”

“Oh, Dolly,” said Aunt Abbie, smiling a little in spite of herself, “you should have known better. But you’re not entirely to blame. We did tell you that we used to have real fire in that stove, but father was always with us to look after it. Children should never play with fire alone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before, Aunt Abbie?” said Dolly, looking at her with a gentle reproach in her big dark eyes. “If you had, I’d have called you up, ’fore we lit it the first time!”

“Phyllis,” said Miss Rachel, turning to the little guest, “does your mother let you play with fire.”

“Why, no, Miss Rachel,” said Pinkie, in surprise. “But then, mother never lets us do any of the things you let Dick and Dolly do. We haven’t any garden or arbour or Lady Eliza or playhouse – ”

At this, both Pinkie and Dolly began to cry afresh, for they remembered that now Dolly had no playhouse either! That beautiful house and barn and lawn and ponds, – all a mass of black, smoking ruins!

Dolly flew to her Aunt Rachel and buried her head on her broad, comforting shoulder as she sobbed out her woe.

“Oh, Auntie,” she wailed; “isn’t it dreadful! Those lovely little beds and bureaus, and the dolls Aunt Nine dressed, – and the looking-glass lake, and that little spotted pig, – he was so cunning, – and the gilt clock in the parlour, – oh – ooh – o-o-ooh!”

“There, dearie, there, there, – ” soothed Miss Rachel, wondering whether Aunt Nine would think Dolly ought to be punished, and if so, what for.

“I wasn’t naughty, was I, Auntie?” went on Dolly, between her sobs. “I wouldn’t be so naughty as to burn up my dear playhouse on purpose!”

“Of course you didn’t do it on purpose, dear; and I don’t believe you were really naughty. But never mind that, now. Even if you were, you’re punished enough by the loss of the playhouse.”

“Yes, I think I am. We were having such fun, Pinkie and I. And, Auntie, it wasn’t a bit Pinkie’s fault either. We wouldn’t either of us have thought of making a fire, if you hadn’t said we could. I mean, you said you used to do it.”

“Yes, Dolly, dear; I fully realise how it all happened, and I’m not going to blame either you or Phyllis. I think you should have known it was a dangerous pastime, but if you’ll promise never to play with fire or matches again, we’ll count this affair merely as an accident. But it was a pretty bad accident, and I’m very thankful that only the playhouse was burned. I shudder to think what might have happened to you two little girls!”

“And to the whole house!” said Miss Abbie. “If Dick hadn’t heard you scream, and if Michael and Pat hadn’t been at home, we might have no roof over our heads now!”

Then Phyllis and Jack went home, and the others went up to the playroom, to see what was left in the ruins. Michael and Pat were still cleaning up, but the whole room had been more or less affected by the smoke, if not by the flame.

The rug, being a thick, Oriental one, had not suffered much, but the wallpaper and woodwork were sadly marred, the curtains were a wreck, and the furniture was scratched and broken.

As to the playhouse, the actual framework was fairly intact, except where the dining-room had been burned away, but it was blackened and charred everywhere.

Miss Rachel directed the men to take it to the cellar, and leave it there for the present.

“Sometime,” she said, “we may have it rebuilt and re-decorated, but I can’t seem to think about it just now. Do you want to keep any of these things, Dolly?”

Dolly looked over the half-burned toys that Dick and Jack had picked out of the ruins, and more tears came as she recognised what had been the blue satin sofa, and the baby’s crib.

“No, I don’t want them,” she said; “they only make me feel worse.”

Then they found the little stove, that had been the immediate cause of the catastrophe. It was unharmed, except that it looked dull instead of shiny, as before.

“I think you’d better set this on the mantel, Dolly,” said Aunt Abbie, “to remind you not to play with fire.”

“I’ll never play with fire again, Auntie,” said Dolly. “But I will put it on the mantel, to remind me of my dear playhouse. Oh, I did love it so!”

Dolly had a great fondness for all her belongings, and the playhouse, with its myriad delights was her dearest and best beloved possession.

“It’s too bad, Dollums,” said Dick. “If Aunt Rachel ever does decide to have the house done over, I’ll do the yard all over again for you.”

“An’ I’ll make yez a new barn,” said Michael, who was just removing the burned remnants of the old one; “but I can’t be doin’ it this summer; there’s too much other wurrk. Next winter, when the wurrk is lighter, I’ll have a thry at it.”