“Oh, come down, come down, good folks, for pity’s sake!” wailed the nocturnal visitor; “my house be a-fire—’tis a mercy I weren’t burnt in my bed!”
“Your house a-fire!” gasped Mrs. Andrews in genuine concern; and thereupon ensued the hasty thud of Mr. Andrews’ bare feet upon the floor. “I’ll let you in in a minute! Dear heart alive! what a misfortune, to be sure!”
In another moment her hospitable but scantily clad figure appeared in the doorway, and a kind, warm hand drew the shivering, sobbing little figure to the kitchen within.
“Ye be as cold as any stone,” she said; “don’t ’ee cry so, Mrs. Stickly dear, Andrews ’ull be down in a minute, and I’ll call Mr. Butt, next door, and a few more chaps—they’ll soon put it out! Don’t ’ee fret so.”
“Oh, Mrs. Andrews,” gasped the poor old woman, “it be all blazin’ and roarin’—the roof be all a-fire! I think it must ha’ been a spark lit on it. It were that cold, d’ye see, I’d made me up a good fire to warm me before I went to bed—I had some nice logs, and I think a spark from ’em must have lit upon the roof. I woke up chokin’, and couldn’t see wi’ the smoke, but I dressed and ran downstairs so fast as I could, and there were more smoke in the kitchen. I could scarce find my way to the dresser, but I crope about until I got there, and ketched hold of the rosy plate, and then out I ran.”
By this time Mr. Andrews had joined them, and soon a little relief party was organised, and set off with all speed to the scene of the disaster; but long before they reached the spot the would-be rescuers agreed that the task was hopeless. The old thatch was now one sheet of flame; every window of the little dwelling was defined in fire; the crackling of the crazy woodwork and the roar of the blaze could be heard almost half a mile away. The men halted and looked at each other blankly.
“It’s ten to one if there’s a drap o’ water handy at this time o’ night,” said Abel Butt, putting into words the thought which was, indeed, present in the minds of all.
“Mrs. Stickly did say as her well was froze,” observed Andrews gloomily; “but we’d best go on all the same and see what can be done.”
They went forward again, but more slowly, and in silence. Before they reached the house, however, the roof fell in with a crash and a roar, wrecking the little home it once had sheltered.
For some weeks Maria was prostrated by the shock. Mrs. Andrews did all she could for her, but as time went on the question of ways and means became a serious one. Andrews was not in full work that winter, and there were many little mouths to feed, and, moreover, the anticipated arrival of a successor to the “twin” would shortly incapacitate Mrs. Andrews from attending to her helpless charge. All poor old Maria’s household gods had perished in the flames; she had already for some years been in the receipt of outdoor relief from the parish, on which, together with the produce of her garden, and the eggs laid by her hens, she had hitherto contrived to live. But now, what was to be done? The cottage was burnt to the ground, and the landlord, though kind and tolerant with regard to certain arrears of rent, was not inclined to rebuild it; moreover, it would be dangerous for Maria in her enfeebled state to resume her former solitary life.