“Dear! dear!” I exclaimed; “what a night this has been! With Milly’s narrow escape from death, and Adelaide’s burned hands, and your sprained ankle, we have had enough Halloween for one year.”
“What do you mean?” Winnie asked, in her absorption taking several little hops up the stairs. “Milly’s escape? What has happened? Ow! wow! You’ll have to get a derrick, Tib, and hoist me up. I cannot budge an inch.”
“Lean on me,” I said, “and listen while I tell you all about it”; and I rehearsed the thrilling story of Professor Waite’s rescue.
“I can smell the smoke still. Snooks will think the house is on fire,” Winnie declared, snuffing vigorously as we reached the studio. “You had better open the windows a bit and air off. And there are some burned scraps of Milly’s wrapper on the floor; let’s pick them all up. Ow! don’t let go of me. This is really what Milly calls a state of dreadfulness—no other word will describe it. How can I ever stand it until morning?”
I helped her to her bed and bound up her ankle with Pond’s Extract; but it had swollen so much and was so painful that when morning came Winnie consented to have the school physician called. He kindly asked no questions, and treated Adelaide’s hands, only remarking, “I see you have been celebrating Halloween.”
“He thinks I burned them in snatching the raisins out of the lighted alcohol,” Adelaide said; “or perhaps in putting out some clothing which was set on fire in that way.”
Even Madame was considerate and did not inquire closely into the details of the trouble.
“I hope you have learned from this,” she said, “that it is a dangerous thing to play with fire.”
Halloween was a disagreeable subject after this to all of us, but especially to Winnie. “Don’t mention it,” she would say. “I shall never play another trick in all my mortal days. I feel as mean and demoralized as a lunch-basket on its way home from a picnic.”
The state of dreadfulness deepened as time went on. Winnie kept her room for days, and it was necessary to feed Adelaide at table, and dress and undress her; but their hurts troubled me less than the heart bruise received by my poor Milly. I kept her secret and she was brave, and no one else suspected it. Professor Waite was very impatient with her, treating her work contemptuously, and disregarding her personally altogether. He never alluded to the accident, treating it, as Winnie said, as of no more consequence than if he had extinguished a bale of cotton that had happened to take fire.