sang the imp, seizing a huge pitcher from one of the washstands and flourishing it over her head as she sung. Round and round she whirled, until her pitcher came furiously against the wall, and smash! in a thousand fragments it fell on the floor.
Arrested in her dance, Firefly stood still one moment, in dismay. Here was a winding-up of her extempore waltz quite unlooked for. There on the floor lay the pitcher, shivered into atoms, and there stood Pet, holding the handle still, and glancing utterly aghast from the ruins on the floor to the fragment of crockery in her hand.
“Whew! here’s a go!” was the elegant expression first jerked out of Pet by the exigency of the case. “I expect this pitcher’s been in the establishment ever since it was an establishment, and would have been in it as much longer only for me. Pet, child, look out! There’ll be murder, distraction, and a tearing off of our shirts! Fall of Jerusalem! won’t Miss Sharpe give me a blowing up, though!”
“Oh, Miss Lawless! what have you done?” cried the young lady, in tones of consternation, as she suddenly entered.
“Smashed the crockery,” said Pet, coolly pointing to the wreck.
“Oh, dear me! Oh, Miss Lawless! how could you do so?”
“Didn’t go for to do it. Got smashed itself.”
“Miss Sharpe will be very angry, Miss Lawless.”
“Well, that don’t worry me much,” said Pet.
“I am afraid she will blame me. I should not have left you here alone,” said the young lady, twisting her fingers in distress.