“Hullo!” Bob Stanley exclaimed out of the smother. “We want to put it in, not out. Hullo, Jess. You here, too?”
“The fire! The smoke!” gasped Jessie.
“Shucks,” said Fred, who was down on his knees poking at something. “We can’t have the windows open, for the rain is beating this way. We’ve got to solder this thing. Did you have trouble with yours, Jess?”
“Sweetness and daylight!” groaned a voice behind them.
Dr. Stanley stood in the doorway. He was a heavy man, and mounting the stairs at such a pace tried his temper as well as his wind.
“Is this what started you girls off at such a tearing pace? Why, the boys borrowed that soldering outfit from the plumber. It’s all right.” 166
“I am so sorry we annoyed you,” said Jessie, contritely.
But Amy had begun to laugh and could say nothing. Only waved her hands weakly and looked at the clergyman, whose cap was much more over his ear than before.
“Right in the middle of Sunday’s sermon, young ladies,” said the minister, with apparent sternness. “If that sermon is a failure, Amy and Jessie, I shall call on one of you girls—perhaps both of you—to step up into the pulpit and take my place. Remember that, now!” and he marched away in apparent dudgeon; but they heard him singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” before he got to the bottom of the upper flight of stairs.
“But it certainly was a great to-do,” murmured Jessie, as she tried to see what the boys were doing.