“You said she was going to travel. What I want to know is when the wedding is going to be,” said Jane.
“Oh, that isn’t decided yet—in the spring, I think. You know, that doesn’t smell like cake burning. It smells like rags. I suppose somebody’s burning trash.”
Carl laughed and looked at Jane; but the burning smell did not resemble tobacco at all, and besides, Paul was still in the kitchen with Aunt Gertrude.
“Go on and tell some more, Elise,” said Jane.
“I’ve told you all I know. I must get you your milk, Carl.”
A minute later Elise reappeared at the dining room door, bearing a tray well stocked with milk and cookies, and followed by Paul and Aunt Gertrude.
“Dear me, who can be burning rubbish?” exclaimed Mrs. Lambert. “Don’t you smell smoke, children?”
“I do, I can tell you,” said Carl. “By Jove, Paul, what’s going on up in your den?”
Everyone looked up in consternation to the attic window. Paul had closed it before he came down, but smoke was coming slowly from under the pane.
“Good heavens! It couldn’t be on fire!” cried Elise. “Run, Paul! Run, quickly!”