“Why didn’t ’un take my lady’s car?”
Nick shouted again, very shrilly:
“I sees yeller flames, I do.”
Agatha rushed out of the cottage.
“It’s the Hall,” she said, tremblingly. “Maybe ’tis only a chimney.”
“Ah-h-h. Best thing for that is a wet turf a-top o’ chimney pot, and a wet blanket stuffed up the flue. I knows.”
Martha covered her face with her apron. But Nicodemus tried to hearten her up with his coagulated wisdom.
“Things might be worse, Marthy. Our cottages might be afire—see.”
Nevertheless, one and all stared at each other, helpless and almost tongue-tied under the stress of emergency.
“I wish I knew where my John was,” said Agatha.