“Mr. Joseph!—Master Johnny! Are you both in there? What’s the matter?”
“What should be the matter?” called back Tod, putting his hand over my mouth that I should not speak. “Go back to your nursery.”
“There’s something burning! My goodness! it’s just as if all the blankets in the house were singeing! You’ve been setting your blankets on fire, Mr. Joseph!”
“And if I have!” cried Tod, blowing away at the hair to make it burn the quicker. “They are not yours.”
“Good patience! you’ll burn us all up, sir! Fire—fire!” shrieked out Hannah, frightened beyond her wits. “For goodness’ sake, Miss Lena, keep away from the keyhole! Here, ma’am! Ma’am! Here’s Mr. Joseph with all his blankets on fire!”
Mrs. Todhetley ran up the stairs, and her terrified appeal came to our ears through the door. Tod threw it open. The hair had burnt itself out.
“Why don’t you go off for the parish engine?” demanded Tod of Hannah, as they came sniffing in. “Well, where’s the fire?”
“But, my dears, something must be singeing,” said Mrs. Todhetley. “Where is it?—what is it?”
“It can’t be anything but the blankets,” cried Hannah, choking and stifling. “Miss Lena, then, don’t I tell you to keep outside, out of harm’s way? Well, it is strong!”