“All very well to blame the poor boy,” said the doctor with mock severity. “It was your doing entirely.”
“Mine, Thomas!” faltered Aunt Hannah.
“Of course it was. You were told not to have the kitchen-fire lit.”
“Yes—yes,” wailed Aunt Hannah; “and I forgot it.”
“It was not only that, Aunt, dear,” said Vane, going to her side, and taking her hand. “It was my unlucky experiment was the principal cause.”
“Not another day, Eliza,” came from the back kitchen. “No, no, not if they went down on their bended knees and begged me to stop.”
“What, amongst all this broken crockery?” cried the doctor. “Hold your tongue, you stupid woman, and send Bruff to ask his wife to come and help clear up all this mess.”
Cook, invisible in the back, uttered a defiant snort.
“Ah!” shouted the doctor. “Am I master here. See to a fire there at once, and I should like one of those delicious omelettes for my breakfast, cook. Let’s have breakfast as soon as you can. There, no more words. Let’s be very thankful that you were neither of you badly scalded. You heard what I said, Bruff?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”