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“What do you call it, a burn?” he asked her. “It is a burn, is it not,” she answered, looking at him. “No,” said he, “its nothing but a singe,” it made her laugh heartily. “I guess she was pleased to have escaped with such slight damage.” “That is just like Doctor Brown,” said Charles.

Having arrived at home, Miss Taylor was in the same place knitting still; it was half past ten, too late for Charles to pay a visit to Mrs. Brewster. “Mary, I fear you have waited tea for us,” said Martha. “To be sure child, I expected you home to it.”

Martha explained why she did not come, telling of the accident to Mrs. Davis. “Ah, careless! careless! careless! she might have been burned to death,” said Mary, lifting her hands. “She would have been much more burnt had it not been for her presence of mind,” said Charles slowly. Miss Taylor laid down her knitting and approached the tea-table, none must preside at the meals but herself. She inquired of Charles whether he was going out again. “I think not,” he replied indecisively, “I should like to have gone though, the doctor tells me Mary Ann Brewster is worse.” “Weaker I conclude,” said Mary. “Weaker than she has been at all, he thinks there is no hope for her now. No, I will not disturb them,” he positively added, “it would be nearly twelve by the time I reached there.”