"We will come and look on, but my jumping days are over, and I don't think yours have begun."
Out into the garden they went, and it was a scene of autumn desolation, for weeds and thorns seemed to be choking all else. Dawn's flying feet hardly touched the ground, and at the very end of the lawn, he pointed with triumph to the bonfire. He certainly was collecting rubbish: a three-legged chair, an old broom, a wooden bucket without a bottom, an old saddle, a piece of frayed carpet, and a variety of smaller articles were all waiting to be sacrificed.
Christina watched him dancing round, and her colour came and went. She squeezed Miss Bertha's hand.
"And Joan of Arc was in the middle. They burnt her!" she exclaimed under her breath.
"Come on, Tina, jump across with me; don't funk it."
Dawn took hold of her hand.
Christina drew a long breath, made a step forward, then burst into tears.
"I can't! I can't! I'm a coward!"
"I'm not a coward," said Miss Bertha briskly, "but I can't jump across! Look here, Dawn, don't you know that at this time of year bonfires are made to burn leaves and dry sticks, and not chairs and tables! Get your wheelbarrow and spade and sweep up your garden paths; Christina will help you. Pile the leaves on your bonfire and all the weeds you can find. You will be tidying up your place, and having some fun into the bargain. I want to see a sick child in the cottage next to you. I shan't be gone long, and then I am going to take Christina home. Make the most of your time."
"Do try one little jump!" urged Dawn, when Miss Bertha had disappeared. "Just see me! It's quite easy."