“I think you have found out for yourself, Phil, why a little boy should never touch matches,” said Mrs. Vane soberly. “If it hadn’t been for Susan, our house might have been burned to the ground. I’m sure I don’t know what your father would say if he were here.”
Phil’s eyes grew glassy at the very thought, but he said nothing. Indeed, there was nothing he could say in excuse.
“You have spoiled your party, and ruined your Jack-in-the-box,” went on his mother. “And, now, after hiding so long in that chilly room, you will have to go straight to bed so that you won’t take cold.”
At this Phil’s tears burst forth, and Susan was moved to pity.
“Oh, dear,” said she, with an arm about Phil’s heaving shoulders, “he will never touch the matches again, will you, Philly? Tell your mother you won’t.”
“N-n-no,” blubbered Phil dismally.
Mrs. Vane smiled down at the small sinner’s comforter.
“It seems too bad that Susan shouldn’t have her refreshments,” she remarked,—“especially since she put out the fire.”
And in a very few moments Susan was sitting on the edge of Phil’s bed, and both were drinking hot chocolate and eating the party sponge cakes.
“Hadn’t you better thank Susan for putting out the fire and saving our house from burning down?” asked Mrs. Vane, as, a little later, she helped Susan into her waterproof. She wanted to drive the lesson home, and impress upon Phil’s mind the danger they had so narrowly escaped.