“Hum; Um: What’s I t’inkin’ of? I’se t’inkin’ dat ar lot ob clo’se supin lak we-all here: De’y good stuff in um, an’ I reckon dey c’n stan’ ’spection, on’y dey sartin do stan’ in need ob jist a leetle spondulix fer ter put em in shape. Dar’s too much ob em spread all ober. What dey needs is ter rip off some o’ dem ruffles and jis hang ter de plain frocks ter tek keer ob. We spen’s a heap ob time breshin’ ruffles dat we better spen’ tekin’ keer ob de frocks in,” concluded Mammy with a sage nod as she turned and walked into the house.
“Upon my word I believe Mammy’s pretty near right Eleanor. We have got a good many ruffles to take care of on this big place and I sometimes feel that mother is wearing herself out caring for them. Perhaps we would be wiser to give them up.”
“Perhaps we would,” agreed Eleanor, “but where will we go if we give up the home? We have hardly known any other, for we were both too little to think much about homes or anything else when we came into this one. For my part, I am ready to do whatever is best and wisest, although I love every stick and stone here. Mother has looked terribly worried lately although she hasn’t said one word to me. Has she to you?
“No, nothing at all. But I know what you mean; her eyes look so tired. I wonder if anything new has arisen to make her anxious. She says so little at any time. I mean to have a talk with her this evening if I can get a chance. Do you get Jean out of the way. She is such an everlasting chatterbox that there is no hope of a quiet half hour while she is around. Now let’s take an inventory of this array and plan my frivolity frock,” and Constance drew Eleanor down upon a rustic seat at one side of the lawn to discuss the absorbing question of the new gown to be evolved from some of the old ones which were swaying in the wind.
Perhaps a half hour passed, the girls were giving little heed to time, for the drowsy dreamy influence of the afternoon was impressing itself upon them. Constance had planned the gown to the minutest detail, Eleanor agreeing and secretly marveling at her ability to do so, when both became aware of a strong odor of smoke.
“What is burning, I wonder?” said Constance, glancing in the direction of a patch of woodland not far off.
“Leaves, most likely. The Henrys’ gardener has burned piles and piles of them ever since they began falling. I shouldn’t think there would be any left for him to burn,” answered Eleanor, looking in the same direction.
“It doesn’t smell like leaves, it smells like wood, and—oh! Eleanor, Eleanor, look! look at your window! The smoke is just pouring from it! The house is a-fire! Run! Run! Quick! Quick!”
[CHAPTER IX—Spontaneous Combustion]
Had the ground opened and disgorged the town, men, women and children could hardly have appeared upon the scene with more startling promptitude than they appeared within five minutes after Constance’s discovery of the smoke. How they got there only those who manage to get to every fire before the alarm ceases to sound can explain, and, as usual, there arrived with them the over-officious, and the over-zealous.