‘Lord save us! Miss Carrie, what do you think? Master Phil hath near killed himself! I’m but just in from a message, and who should I meet but Mr. Peter, running like mad, and with never a hat to his head! ’Taint often as Mr. Peter passeth by me in the street, but he waved and passed on without one word, and up to the door of Dr. James and kicks till the door do near split across. When he’d given his message he found time to return to where I was a-standin’—for in troth I had such a terror at the sight of Mr. Peter flyin’ down the street that I stood as if I had the palsy, and must so stand there till he returned. “Well, Mr. Peter,” I said, “you seem pressed for time this day.” “Miss Patty,” saith he (and believe me he could scarce get out the words for agitation),—“Miss Patty, my young master’s near burned to death.” ’
Patty was breathless with agitation herself at this point, and to recover her breath and relieve her surcharged feelings she seized a brush and began to arrange Carrie’s locks with more energy than gentleness. Carrie, deeply stirred by this tale, listened in great anxiety for further details. Patty then proceeded—
‘Being dinner-time, all the house was still, and Master Phil slips from the nursery and into the master’s own room he do go, and commences playing with the log fire. He hath a great fancy for pilin’ on the logs, same as he seeth Mr. Peter a-doing, and he’d lifted one too heavy an’ overbalanced hisself into the fire. He’d on a silk suit with ruffles, and it fired direct, and the whole body of him was blazing in a moment. The master’s gentleman, as was in the dressing-room a-putting away of the master’s clothes, he came running in and pulled Master Phil out from the heart o’ the fire! They’d a business tearing off his clothes! and now there he do lie in the master’s own bed a-screamin’ in agony.’
Carrie was deeply impressed; it was not her nature to weep easily over anything, but she approached the nursery fire and stood gazing at the cruel element that had worked such sad havoc on her poor little playmate.
Patty, with hysteric exclamations, pulled her back and declared she would never have an easy moment again—never. But a few moments later she found it necessary to flounce off to the kitchen, to repeat her tale there with many sappy additions.
Carrie, thus deserted, quietly drew her little chair close to the fire, and looked at the flames with a very serious face. She even extended one of her fat little fingers towards the bars experimentally, withdrawing it, however, with less caution, and a moment later she said ‘Poor Phil!’ with heart-felt compassion.
Patty ran in then, and shook her roughly. ‘What did I say, Miss Carrie?—never beyond the rug, and there you do sit close in to the very blaze! How, Miss Carrie, mind you obey me better, and partickerly in this, never to say one word of Master Phil to the master or the mistress. And if so be you do, well, of this I’m sure as I stand in my shoes: you’ll never play again with Master Phil so long as you live.’
Carrie did not in the least understand the reason of all this mystery about Phil; but she reiterated once more her promise of secrecy.
That night as she curtseyed to her parents at bedtime, she said suddenly—
‘Doth burning hurt, dada?’