He led the way through the shattered kitchen, which was a perfect wreck; but before he could reach the hall, Vane had passed him.
“Aunt! Aunt!” he cried; “did you tell cook not to light the kitchen-fire?”
“Oh, dear me!” cried Aunt Hannah; “what a head I have. I meant to, but I quite forgot.”
There was silence in the hall for a few moments, only broken by a sob or two from the back kitchen. Then Aunt Hannah spoke again.
“Oh, I am so sorry, my dear. But is anybody very badly hurt?”
“Yes,” said the doctor, dryly. “Vane is—very.”
“My dear, my dear! Where?” cried Aunt Hannah, catching the lad by the arm.
“Only in his amour propre” said the doctor, and Vane ran out of the hall and through the front door to get round to the greenhouse, but as he opened the door of the glass building the doctor overtook him, and they entered in silence, each looking round eagerly for the mischief done.
Here it was not serious: some panes of glass were broken, and two or three pipes nearest to the wall were blown out of their places; but there was the cause of all mischief, the two taps in the small tubes which connected the flow and return pipes were turned off, with the consequence, that there was no escape for the steam, and the closed boiler had of course exploded as soon as sufficient steam had generated, with the consequences seen.
“Pretty engineer you are, sir,” cried the doctor, “to have both those stop-cocks turned.”