A speedy application of the hearth-rug quenched the conflagration, and when a minute burn had been enveloped in cotton-wool, like a gem, a coroner sat upon the pinafore and investigated the case.
It appeared that the ladies were “only playing paper dolls,” when Wash, sighing for the enlightenment of his race, proposed to make a bonfire, and did so with an old book; but Gusty, with a firm belief in future punishment, tried to save it, and fell a victim to her principles, as the virtuous are very apt to do.
The book was brought into court, and proved to be an ancient volume of ballads, cut, torn, and half consumed. Several peculiarly developed paper dolls, branded here and there with large letters, like galley-slaves, were then produced by the accused, and the judge could with difficulty preserve her gravity when she found “John Gilpin” converted into a painted petticoat, “The Bay of Biscay, O,” situated in the crown of a hat, and “Chevy Chase” issuing from the mouth of a triangular gentleman, who, like Dickens’s cherub, probably sung it by ear, having no lungs to speak of.
It was further apparent from the agricultural appearance of the room that beans had been sowed broadcast by means of the apple-corer, which Wash had converted into a pop-gun with a mechanical ingenuity worthy of more general appreciation. He felt this deeply, and when Christie reproved him for leading his sisters astray, he resented the liberty she took, and retired in high dudgeon to the cellar, where he appeared to set up a menagerie,—for bears, lions, and unknown animals, endowed with great vocal powers, were heard to solicit patronage from below.
Somewhat exhausted by her labors, Christie rested, after clearing up the room, while the children found a solace for all afflictions in the consumption of relays of bread and molasses, which infantile restorative occurred like an inspiration to the mind of their guardian.
Peace reigned for fifteen minutes; then came a loud crash from the cellar, followed by a violent splashing, and wild cries of, “Oh, oh, oh, I’ve fell into the pork barrel! I’m drownin’, I’m drownin’!”
Down rushed Christie, and the sticky innocents ran screaming after, to behold their pickled brother fished up from the briny deep. A spectacle well calculated to impress upon their infant minds the awful consequences of straying from the paths of virtue.
At this crisis Mrs. Wilkins providentially appeared, breathless, but brisk and beaming, and in no wise dismayed by the plight of her luckless son, for a ten years’ acquaintance with Wash’s dauntless nature had inured his mother to “didoes” that would have appalled most women.
“Go right up chamber, and change every rag on you, and don’t come down agin till I rap on the ceilin’; you dreadful boy, disgracin’ your family by sech actions. I’m sorry I was kep’ so long, but Mis Plumly got tellin’ her werryments, and ’peared to take so much comfort in it I couldn’t bear to stop her. Then I jest run round to your place and told that woman that you was safe and well, along’r friends, and would call in to-morrer to get your things. She’d ben so scart by your not comin’ home that she was as mild as milk, so you won’t have no trouble with her, I expect.”
“Thank you very much! How kind you are, and how tired you must be! Sit down and let me take your things,” cried Christie, more relieved than she could express.