e, and dragged it along the bar over the fire. Mary sprung
forwards in terror to stop the little girl. She never knew how it was,
but the next moment her arm and side were full of burning pain, which
turned her sick and dizzy, and Jenny was crying passionately beside her.

"Oh, Mary! Mary! Mary! my hand is so scalded. What shall I do? I cannot
bear it. It's all about my feet on the ground." She kept shaking her
hand to cool it by the action of the air. Mary thought that she herself
was dying, so acute and terrible was the pain; she could hardly keep
from screaming out aloud; but she felt that if she once began she could
not stop herself, so she sat still, moaning, and the tears running down
her face like rain. "Go, Jenny," said she, "and tell some one to come."

"I can't, I can't, my hand hurts so," said Jenny. But she flew wildly
out of the house the next minute, crying out, "Mary is dead. Come, come,
come!" For Mary could bear it no longer; but had fainted away, and looked,
indeed, like one that was dead. Neighbours flocked in; and one ran for
a doctor. In five minutes Tom and Jem came home. What a home it seems!
People they hardly knew standing in the house-place, which looked as if
it had never been cleaned--all was so wet, and in such disorder, and
dirty with the trampling of many feet; Jenny still crying passionately,
but half comforted at being at present the only authority as to how the
affair happened; and faint moans from the room upstairs, where some women
were cutting the clothes off poor Mary, preparatory for the doctor's
inspection. Jem said directly, "Some one go straight to Mrs. Scott's,
and fetch our Bessy. Her place is here, with Mary."

And then he civilly, but quietly, dismissed all the unnecessary and
useless people, feeling sure that in case of any kind of illness, quiet
was the best thing. Then he went upstairs.

Mary's face was scarlet now with violent pain; but she smiled a little
through her tears at seeing Jem. As for him, he cried outright.

"I don't think it was anybody's fault, Jem," said she, softly. "It was
very heavy to lift."

"Are you in great pain, dear?" asked Jem, in a whisper.

"I think I'm killed, Jem. I do think I am. And I did so want to see
mother again."

"Nonsense!" said the woman who had been helping Mary. For, as she said
afterwards, whether Mary died or lived, crying was a bad thing for her;
and she saw the girl was ready to cry when she thought of her mother,
thou