He unceremoniously pushed aside any children who got in his way, for Michael was very much in earnest. And he had reason to be. His prompt and speedy action had probably saved the whole house from burning down, and after he was sure there was no lurking flame left anywhere, he turned to the two ladies, who stood white-faced and trembling on the threshold.
“All right, Miss Rachel,” he said, cheerily; “the baby-house is done for, but we’ve saved Dana Dene from burnin’ up intirely.”
“Is everybody safe?” asked Miss Rachel, bewildered with the suddenness and terror of it all.
“Safe an’ sound, ma’am. Now, don’t dishturb yersilves further, but you an’ Miss Abbie an’ the childher go back downstairs, an’ me an’ Pat’ll be afther cleanin’ up some here.”
“But Dolly is burned!” cried Miss Abbie, seeing Dolly still holding out her blistered finger, and screwing her face in pain.
“No,” said Dolly, “I did that before the fire. It’s nothing.”
“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.”