“Chile,” said Candace, “nebber min’ how it done happen—de ting now is, who had sense enough to ’tend to gettin’ out de tings. Wot dey’d done ef I hadn’t a-come I d’no eber in all dis worl’”—
“Hannah!” cried Mrs. Dodge in despair to the maid hurrying by, “do you know? Tell me, how came the little brown house to be on fire?”
“Johnny Fargo went in and played making a fire,” said Hannah.
“Johnny Fargo! Oh, the little scamp!” cried Alexia; “now that boy ought to have a good drubbing,” she cried, quite beside herself.
“There can’t anybody give it to him,” said Hannah, hurrying on, “because he’s burnt, and the doctor’s coming.”
“Oh, the pore leetle lamb!” exclaimed Candace, raising her black hands; “now I must nuss him. He was so good to bring up my passels, an’ to wait on me in—well, well, I d’no know wot dey’d have done ef I hadn’t ’a’ come;” and she waddled off, Mrs. Dodge closely following, remorsefully determining to do everything in the world now for Johnny instead of the drubbing.
And so it turned out that the two letters in her pocket she had just taken out of the post-office when she heard of the fire, remained there forgotten until the doctor had dressed Johnny’s burns and gone, and she had Mrs. Fargo on the sofa in Polly’s room, where they had fled for refuge.
“There, now, you ought not to cry, you know, Mrs. Fargo,” she said. “Oh, dear me! what would Polly Pepper say to you if she were here? I’m good for nothing; but you really ought not.”
“Oh, I cannot help it!” cried Mrs. Fargo, deep in her handkerchief. “My poor little boy! and then to think of that precious house—why, if he’d set this one on fire, it wouldn’t have been one-half as bad.”
“Well, it didn’t burn up,” cried Alexia, twitching her sleeve, “so what’s the use of crying now. Oh, dear me—why, here are the letters!” and she tore them out of her pocket. “One for you, and one for me—from Polly!” and in a minute she was deep in hers.