“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.”