“Be glad!” she repeated. “Glad to marry a good-for-nothin' sand-peep like you! You sassy—GET down off that chair and out of this house! Get down this minute!”
“I can't! This stovepipe's loose, I tell you! Be reason'ble, Keziah. Do—don't you touch me! I'll fall if you do. Pl-e-ase, Keziah!—O Lordy! I knew it. LAVINY!”
The door opened. On the threshold, arms akimbo and lips set tight, stood Lavinia Pepper. Her brother's knees gave way; in their collapse they struck the chair back; the rickety leg wabbled. Kyan grasped at the pipe to save himself and, the next moment, chair, sections of stovepipe, and Mr. Pepper disappeared with a mighty crash behind the high-boy. A cloud of soot arose and obscured the view.
Keziah, too indignant even to laugh, glared at the wreck. In the doorway of the kitchen Grace Van Horne, hammer in hand, leaned against the jamb, her handkerchief at her mouth and tears in her eyes. Lavinia, majestic and rigid, dominated the scene. From behind the high-boy came coughs, sneezes, and emphatic ejaculations.
Miss Pepper was the first to speak.
“Abishai Pepper,” she commanded, “come out of that this minute.”
Her answer was a tremendous sneeze. Then from the dusky cloud by the wall sounded a voice feebly protesting.
“Now, Laviny,” began poor Kyan, “I never in my life—”
“Do you hear me? Come out of that!”
There was a sound of scrambling. More soot floated in the air. Then around the corner of the high-boy appeared Mr. Pepper, crawling on his hands and knees. His hair was streaked with black; his shirt front and collar and shirt sleeves were spotted and smeared with black; and from his blackened cheeks his red whiskers flamed like the last glowing embers in a fire-scarred ruin.