“No,” shouted Willie, “I am the priest; I know he means burn all;” and seizing a brand, he applied it to Dolly’s village, which stood near by. For a moment it was fun to see the flames bursting from the roofs of houses, and lapping about the fences; but Dolly soon gave a cry of dismay.
“Susanna and Posy are in the church; I don’t want them burned.”
“To the rescue!” shouted the heathen priest, snatching the pot from his head, and running to fill it with water.
But Dolly could not wait, and had already burned a hole in her apron, and singed her hair, trying to save her favorites. Blackhawk cowered in the corner, stamping his hind feet, while Ada was pulling apart the pyre on which her dolls had perished.
“O, Willie, the floor is burned. Hurry, hurry!” cried Dolly.
Willie ran, deluged the burning village, and Dolly seized Susanna and Posy, free from damage, with the exception of Posy’s legs, which were so long, they lay outside the church door, and were burned off. When they cleared away the ruins, there was a round, black spot on the floor, where the village had stood, and the children’s hands and clothes were wet and grimy.
“Do you think mother will care?” asked Dolly, after they had looked solemnly at one another.
“I don’t believe she will as long as we did not burn any more,” replied Willie, stepping back on the rest of the matches.
They were explosive, and lighted with a snap that made him jump. When he saw what he had done, he turned the watering-pot over them, and put his foot on it.
“Now they are safe,” he cried. “Let us bury the pieces of the village.”