"But——but we asked him to, Liza."
"Don't mek no diff'unce, Missy Bef. No-buddy ain't got no right to do nuffin wrong jes' 'kase somebuddy axes him to. Now, den, yo' alls gwine right 'long into de kitchen, an' you' ain't nebah gwine to watch yo' pa an' Tom put out dat fiah, so yo' ain't! Go long wif yo'!" Liza drove them before her and turned aside to answer Mr. Selwyn's anxious questions.
"No, sah, Massa Rob, she ain't hurt a mite, only skeered; an' I reckon I fixed dat all right by gibbin' dem all de bestest scoldin' dey ebah got. She's done forgot all 'bout de fiah fo' wondahing what I'se gwine to do wif dem when I gits dem into de kitchen, he! he! he!"
She kept her word in regard to the fire, for she wished to drive the memory of the fright from Berta's mind; but she set a big plate of cookies on the kitchen table and brought each of them a glass of milk. Then she hurried into the dining-room to meet the two mothers who, in spite of hearing from Mary and Wilhelmina that the children were safe, had hurried down stairs to see for themselves; and all agreed that the less said the better. But Mrs. Selwyn went to the telephone to ask her sister to let the little ones spend the next day at Maryvale.
When the twins heard of the plan at dinner that evening, they clapped their hands in delight.
"We must be ready to leave here as soon as we have had breakfast," said the Doctor. "I shall put you and Aunt Mandy on the train, and two or three of the older girls with the wagonette from the convent will meet you. Tom had better go, too, I think. He and Jerry, the gardener, can unpack the furniture as it is unloaded and set up the beds so that we shall have a place to sleep to-morrow night; for I am quite sure that we shall spend it at Bird-a-Lea."
CHAPTER XII.
THURSDAY.
"Great 'citement going on, isn't they, Uncle?" Berta hurried through the hall, lugging a suitcase almost as large as herself. It did not matter that there was nothing in it; that Aunt Mandy was taking a valise into which she had put two little dresses and two little suits for fear that, by evening, those the children were wearing would not be fit to be seen. But a valise was not a suitcase; and Berta, who had made up her mind to travel in proper style, insisted, "Ev'ybody going on a train always takes a shootcase."