Mr. Starbird thought she was scalding to death, and instead of taking care of himself, turned about to save her. But before he could reach her, she had darted through the bar-room door and disappeared—without so much as a blotch of tallow on her shoes.
Gallant Mr. Starbird did not get off so well. His foot slipped on the oily floor, and down he fell. Before he could get up the whole household had come to the rescue, Rachel and John bringing tin dippers, and Mrs. Lyman a mop; but Dorcas a roll of linen, for she knew the stranger must be scalded.
He tried to make the best of it, poor man; and while Dorcas was doing up both his blistered hands, he smiled on her almost as "cheerfully" as he had smiled on the little candle-dipper. He found it very pleasant to look at Dorcas. Everybody liked to look at her. She had a rare, sweet face, as delicate as a white snowdrop just touched with pink, and she did know how to do up sore fingers beautifully; she had practised it on every one of the children.
Patty was so sorry and ashamed that she crept to bed in the dark, and cried herself to sleep.
The next morning that unpainted kitchen floor was a sight to behold, and Rachel said she did not think it would ever come clean again.
"See what I found in the kettle," said she.
Two rows of little withered candles, all worn out, and crooked besides.
"Did I do that too?" said Patty.
"I should think you did. What mischief will you be up to next?" said Rachel, sharply.
"But, but, mamma said I might dip."