CHAPTER X

FIRE!

A FEW minutes later the two little girls set off on their mission, carrying between them the homesick monkey.

The train journey to Farley was soon accomplished. One was just about to start, and the railway official, recognizing the children as two little season-ticket holders, allowed them to pass. Then came the walk to the gipsy encampment, which seemed very long and wearisome. They had no difficulty in finding the way, as Marcia already knew, from Rupert's description, whereabouts the encampment was situated. Marcia, in her anxiety about poor Jenny, forgot to be frightened as she approached the rough-looking men and women who were round about the caravans.

Taking the basket from Ella, who had carried it nearly all the way, she went up to the man who stood nearest the field gate.

"Hullo! Little missie," said he; "what have you got there, I should like to know?"

"It's Jenny," replied Marcia; "and I've brought her back 'cause she's homesick."

For a moment the man looked puzzled. Then, uncovering the little creature, it suddenly dawned upon him that it was the monkey which his son had sold to a young gentleman a short while previously.

"Homesick!" repeated the gipsy. Then, the funny side striking him, he burst into a roar of laughter. By this time several of the others had drawn near.

"Please, I don't know why you laugh," said Marcia, with a little gasp suggestive of tears; "she's dying!"

"Dying cos she's homesick!" roared the man. "Well, I'm blowed!"

Marcia began to think the gipsy man very strange and rough.

Presently the boy, of whom Rupert had bought the monkey, came up, and the matter being explained to him he, too, bubbled over with amusement.

"You want to get rid of her, little missie, do you?" he asked with a broad grin, thinking that he saw his way to make profit out of Jenny, by nursing her up and selling her again to another purchaser.

"Yes," said Marcia. "She'll die if I keep her, I'm afraid."

"Mayhap she will," replied the boy. "Just you wait a minute, and I'll see if I can't do something to cure her homesick feelings."

"It's a cold she's got, ain't it, Bill?" asked the elder man under his voice.

"Yes. I'll soon give her a little drop as 'll perk her up."

In a few minutes the boy returned to the waiting children. The mixture he had given poor Jenny had certainly revived her.

"You were right, little missie," he said. "The monkey was homesick as could be. She's chirpin' up wonderful now she's amongst us all again. We shall soon have her a-singing of 'Home, sweet Home.'"

As soon as the children had taken their departure, Bill gave his father a knowing wink.

"Bless yer," said he, "that there monkey 'll be as right as a trivet in a day or two. Homesick! He! He! It's the best joke I've heard for many a long day!"

The return journey did not seem nearly so wearisome to the two children, although Marcia's heart was heavy within her for the loss of her little pet. They made their way first to Farley station, in hopes of catching a train. This, they were fortunate enough to do.

A terrible shock, however, awaited the two little girls shortly after arriving at Berryland. In turning a corner of the road which led to the Hall, they discovered that Rose Cottage was in flames!

Ella's heart seemed to stand still within her for very terror. She remembered as in a flash, that Molly had left some clothes to air around the fire, and had bidden her keep guard. These, no doubt, thought the unhappy little girl, had caught fire, owing to her want of attention, and the flames, not being stayed in any way, had spread until the cottage was hopelessly involved.

Alas! What Ella imagined had come to pass.

The children then ran as fast as their legs could carry them towards the scene, where a large crowd had already assembled. The fire engine, too, was at work, but the flames had too great a hold for it to be of any real use. As soon as Ella approached the spot, she was espied by Molly, who, with a white, frightened face, was watching near.

"Oh, Miss Ella," cried the girl, "thank goodness you're safe and sound! Your Grannie's half wild about you. She thinks as how you're all burnt up to a cinder in the fire."

"Where is Grannie?" asked Ella half-distractedly. "I thought she was in London."

"She came back the same time as I did from my shopping, and we found the house alight."

Poor Grannie! Ella had indeed much to answer for that afternoon. In her anxiety to help little Marcia, she had forgotten all about Molly's behests concerning the linen.

Mrs. Russell was amongst the crowd, looking terribly ill with the shock she had sustained. In her eyes, too, was an expression of fear, which as soon as she caught sight of Ella died away.

"Thank God—thank God, you are safe, child!" ejaculated the old lady.

Then, the relief being almost more than she knew how to bear, she swayed forwards in a fainting condition. But for the stalwart arm of a policeman, Mrs. Russell would have been in a sorry plight.

"Hi, there!" shouted the constable to a man in a wagon near by. "Take this 'ere lady up to the Hall. She ain't fit to be in a crowd like this."

The man willingly agreed, and between them, poor Mrs. Russell was lifted into the wagon and taken to the Hall, Ella and Marcia accompanying her.

A short while later, Mrs. Snowden and the children returned from their drive. Great, indeed, was their consternation on beholding the burning cottage, and they at once made eager inquiries concerning its inmates. Their anxiety being relieved as to their whereabouts, Mrs. Snowden bade the coachman drive on home without delay.

That night Mrs. Russell and Ella slept at the Hall; in fact, until suitable lodgings were found for them, they remained there as welcome guests.

It was not until a couple of days after the disaster that Mrs. Russell was well enough to receive explanations from Ella as to how it was, she had disobeyed orders. Then the child came in for her full measure of reproach. It was in vain that Mrs. Snowden, who at heart was thoroughly glad to get rid of the monkey, pleaded her cause. Nothing she could say or do, had any power to allay the old lady's displeasure.

"No," she said sternly. "Ella has disobeyed me, and proved unworthy of my trust. Therefore she must suffer for it."

Poor Ella, they were indeed dark days for her just then.

Lodgings were found at last, and thither, when arrangements were all completed, Mrs. Russell and Ella removed.

Molly, who had found a situation in the neighbourhood without the least difficulty, came to see her old mistress before taking up her new duties.

"There's one thing, mum, I ought to have told you," said she, "and that is, a letter came from South Africa while you were in London the other day. I forgot to say anything about it to Miss Ella, but put it away safely just inside your work-basket."

"Then you mean to say it was destroyed in the fire, Molly?" said Mrs. Russell, looking much concerned.

"Yes, mum; worse luck, that's what I mean," replied the girl; "but perhaps there wasn't much in it," she added, with the endeavour to bestow a word of consolation.

But her well-meant efforts were wasted. Both Mrs. Russell and Ella were terribly distressed that so precious a missive should have been burnt up in the flames.

Ah! Had they known the contents of that letter, their hearts, instead of being heavy as lead, would have leapt for joy.

"Have you heard the news, mum, about Sir James Crofton?" went on Molly, who was in a chatty frame of mind.

"No, what is it?" asked Mrs. Russell.

"He's gone and died suddenly of heart disease."

Mrs. Russell was greatly shocked, for the baronet's generosity in the matter of Ella's education had given him a high place in her estimation.

What about the child's school bills now? Ah! That was the question. Sir James Crofton had paid one term in advance, so until April all was well.

After that, so far as Mrs. Russell could see, there remained only the village-school for her grandchild, and the thought was pain and grief to her. She was feeling far too weak and ailing to think of teaching the little girl herself; in fact, it almost seemed to Ella, as she looked at the withered old face, as if her Grannie were slowly fading away.