"Very well, then, I will go with you. I must get some grease or something to put on my face and hands; they are smarting awfully."
Mrs. Andrews gave an exclamation of surprise and alarm as the boys entered. The irritation of the wood smoke had so much inflamed their eyes that they could scarcely see out of them, and their faces looked like pieces of raw beef.
"Whatever has happened, boys?" she exclaimed.
"There's a great fire at Penrose's, mother; it broke out just as we were passing, so we stopped to help for a bit, and then came home to tell you, thinking that you might be anxious."
"A fire at the works!" Mrs. Andrews exclaimed; "that is dreadful. Dreadful for Mr. Penrose, and for all of you who work there; more, perhaps, for you than for him, for no doubt he is insured, and you may be out of work for months. Thank God I have plenty of work, so I dare say we shall be able to tide it over."
"It is not all burned, mother; only the molding-shop and the floors above it are on fire at present, and as there are six fire-engines at work, and they keep on arriving every minute, I hope they will save the rest; and now, mother, what can we do to our faces and hands, they are smarting awfully?"
"Dear me, George, are you burnt? I thought you were only dreadfully hot."
"We feel hot, mother, just as if our faces were being roasted."
"I will get some oil, that will be the best thing," Mrs. Andrews said, hurrying away to the kitchen, and coming back with a piece of cotton-wool, and some olive-oil in a cup.
"You are burned, George. Why, child, your hair is all singed, and your eyebrows and eyelashes. Why, what have you been doing to yourselves? There could have been no occasion to put your heads into the flames like that. Why, your hands are worse still; they are quite blistered. I had better wrap them up in cotton-wool."