g, kept close to her heels.

She reentered the kitchen, where those accusing, ghostly, red slits
of eyes in the stove seemed to watch her. She fumbled nervously on the
shelf above the stove and got some matches, spilling a number of them
on the floor. She could not pause to gather them up while those red
eyes stared. She had planned her poor little enterprise with a view to
secrecy, but in the emergency and with the minutes passing, she did
not now pause to think or consider. Near the flour barrel hung several
goodly pudding bags, luscious reminders of Thanksgiving. Aunt Jamsiah
had promised to make a plum-pudding for Pee-wee in the largest one of
these and he had spent some time in measuring them and computing their
capacity, with the purpose of selecting the most capacious. Pepsy now
hurriedly took all of these and a kitchen apron along with them, and
descended again into the cellar.

By the dim lantern light she lifted the fallen tank and replaced it
on its skids. Then she wiped up the floor as best she could with the
makeshift mop which had been intended to serve a better purpose. She
wiped off her soggy shoes and tried to clean that clinging oiliness
from her hands. It seemed to her as if the whole world were nothing but
kerosene.

She did not know what to do with the drenched rags, so she took them
with her when she started again for the dark road, this time with
her two cheery companions, the lantern and Wiggle. She soon found the
dripping rags a burden and cast them from her as she passed the well.
Wiggle turned back and inspected the smelly, soggy mass, found that
he did not like it, took a hasty drink from the puddle under the well
spout, and rejoined his companion.

It must have been close to ten o'clock when Mr. Ira Jensen, enjoying a
last smoke on his porch before retiring, saw the lantern light swinging
up his roadway. The next thing that he was aware of was the pungent odor
of kerosene borne upon the freshening night breeze. And then the little
delegation stood revealed before him, Wiggle, wagging his tail, the
lantern sputtering, and Pepsy's head jerking nervously as if she were
trying to shake out what she had to say.

It took Pepsy a few moments to key herself up to the speaking point.
Then she spoke tremulously but with a kind of jerky readiness suggesting
many lonely rehearsals.

"Mr. Jensen," she said, "I have to do a good turn and so I came to ask
you if you'll help me and the reason I smell