“Is it the little brown house?” gasped Alexia, not daring to look in that direction, as she jumped out.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Patsy.
“Is it gone? all gone?” she screamed. Then she sat right down on the bank, and burst into tears.
“No, ma’am!” cried Patsy; “sure it’s not.”
“Not out? Oh, dear, dear, dear!” cried Alexia, waving back and forth in distress; “it will kill them all. We might as well all be dead as to have the little brown house burnt up. Oh, dear—dear—dear!”
“‘We might as well all be dead, as to have the little brown house burnt up,’ said Alexia.”
“It’s there!” cried Patsy, extending all the fingers of one hand to point at it; “a-standing just as nice and”—
Alexia sprang to her feet, and seized his arm. “Patsy!” she cried, “do you mean to tell me that if I turn around I shall see the little brown house the same as ever?”
“Yis’m,” said Patsy; “if you opens your eyes you will.”