"Why, auntie," cried Johnny, "'twas only a pumpkin. She went and was afraid of a pumpkin!"
The cause of this direful affright, the lighted jack-o'-lantern, was lying face upward on the floor, the candle within it smoking and dripping with tallow. One glance explained the whole mystery.
But by this time there seemed to be no further cause for anxiety with regard to Dotty. She gathered herself together, sat upright, and began to scold.
"'Twas blazing a-fire, mamma. He lighted it to plague me—Johnny did."
"I'm ever so sorry, auntie," said Percy, and his regretful face said as much as his words.
"Johnny scared me to death," broke in Dotty; "and then he pumped water on me all over—Johnny did."
"I'll never do so again," said Percy, shamed by the look of reproach in his uncle's face.
"See that you remember your promise, my boy. You have run a great risk to-night."
No one supposed, at the time, that Dotty had received a serious injury; but she did not sleep off the effects of her fright. She was remarkably pale next morning, and declined her breakfast. She had not been well for some time, but she had not trembled as now at the opening and shutting of a door. It was plain that her nerves had been quite unstrung.
Days passed, and still she did not seem quite like herself. Her father told the family physician she was not well, and asked what it was best to do with her. The doctor said he thought she only needed time enough, and she would recover her "tone."