"Why, it's from your Aunt Matilda!" said she, as she glanced at it. "It isn't often she writes. Dear me! I hope there's nothing the matter with Ellen. Read it to me, please, Jerry, for I can't take my hands out of the bread, or it will be spoiled."
Jerry took the letter Johnny handed him and opened it, his mother anxiously waiting to hear the contents.
The letter was worded in the abrupt style peculiar to Miss Mansfield's speech, and was as brief as the nature of the communication permitted.
"My dear sister," she wrote, "I am sorry to send you bad news, but you must be thankful it's no worse, as it might well have been. Yesterday evening, in my absence from home, Ellen and her fellow-apprentice disobeyed my express command, and carried a candle into the show-room, and in their carelessness managed to set fire to some expensive muslins which had been placed there. Ellen was well punished for her disobedience, and might have been burnt to death, if I had not come in just in time to help her. However, she was badly burnt, though not dangerously, and by the doctor's advice, I had her at once removed to the hospital, where everything has been done for her that could be, and she seems fairly comfortable, and in a way to recover soon. Hoping you will not let this distress you greatly, and assuring you that I will do all that I can for Ellen.
"I remain, yours affectionately,
"MATILDA MANSFIELD."
As Jerry, in faltering tones, read this letter, his mother was much dismayed.
Forgetful of her dough, she almost took the letter from his hand before he had finished, so anxious was she to ascertain its exact contents.
Her sister-in-law's injunction that she should not distress herself was of little use.
Ellen almost burned to death, and lying in a hospital—the idea suggested a picture of suffering far worse than the reality!
The mother's heart felt keenly the pain her child was enduring, and the loneliness of her position.
"Oh, my poor child!" she wailed. "Badly burnt, and away from her mother in a hospital! I cannot bear to think of it. But I must go to her. I cannot let her suffer so alone, with no one to care for her, for I know her aunt has little tenderness to give any one, though I dare say she means well. I must manage to go somehow. Willy and Johnny, run off as fast as you can and look for father, and ask him to come to me at once."