lthough Mrs. Wilson was very much better, her improvement still greatly depended upon having perfect quiet and freedom from all excitement, and her nurses found that if she was in any way disturbed or agitated in the evening, she either lay awake the greater part of the night, or, when worn out for want of sleep, was compelled to take the soothing medicine, which always had a depressing effect upon her next day.

One evening, Ella had just left her aunt, who was drowsily watching nurse’s final preparations for the night, when the whole house suddenly rang with piercing screams and cries for help from the kitchen.

Greatly annoyed and frightened, Ella ran downstairs to stop the noise, and, on reaching the kitchen, was horrified to find Annie, the housemaid, rushing about the room with her dress in flames, and shrieking wildly for someone to save her. The cook, meanwhile, was crouching in a corner with her apron over her head, so that, as she said afterwards, she “might not see Annie burnt to death before her eyes.”

Ella quickly shut the kitchen-door, thereby stopping the draught of air, which was blowing the flames in all directions, and then, with more presence of mind, although not much better success, than the cook, she seized a jug of water, and flung it over the flames, and ran for more.

Unfortunately, it was burning oil that had caught fire, and was setting alight to the matting that covered the floor, and the water only spread the mischief further.

Happily, nurse now appeared in the doorway, and instantly perceiving what was the matter, tore up a heavy hearthrug, and wrapping it round Annie, soon succeeded in extinguishing the flames; while Ella, perceiving the good effect of her plan, promptly imitated her example, and pulling up doormats, and anything woollen she could reach, threw them on the burning oil on the floor, and she and nurse soon stamped out the flames.

Directly the fire was quite out, nurse urged Ella to return to her aunt, while she herself examined the extent of Annie’s burns. Happily, the poor girl was wearing a dress of thick woollen material, which had taken a long time to ignite, so that, although her muslin apron had made a great blaze, she herself was hardly injured at all. It was, in reality, Mrs. Wilson who suffered the most, the excitement causing her a sleepless night, followed next day by a violent headache and feverish attack.

After breakfast the following day, Ella made up her mind to hold a solemn inquiry into the causes of the accident, the result of which filled her with amazement that the whole house had not been burnt down long ago.

There was no gas in the house, and, as a great deal of oil was required, a large tin vessel containing several gallons was kept (or was supposed to be) in an outhouse; while, in order to avoid the danger of taking a light near this supply of oil, Mrs. Wilson had given instructions that the lamps should always be cleaned and re-filled during the morning.

But the outhouse was cold, and the lamps were often forgotten until they were wanted in the evening; so the large can of oil had been surreptitiously brought into one of the pantries, where it could be more easily got at.

On this occasion, as on many others, Annie had forgotten to fill the hall lamp, and when it reminded her of the fact by smoking, making a choking smell, and finally going out, she took it down and filled it, using the naked flame of a benzoline lamp to light the dark little pantry.

Even this foolhardy act did not, as it might have done, set the whole store of oil in flames, and she actually trimmed and re-lighted the lamp in safety, and was carrying it through the kitchen, when a sudden draught blew the flame of the benzoline lamp against her hand, on which some oil was spilled. This flamed up, and the frightened girl dropped both lamps. The larger one exploded in the fall, setting fire to the oil and to her own apron, and, but for nurse’s quickness and presence of mind, she would probably have been burned to death.

All this information, very unwillingly given, added to cook’s remark that there was not a lamp that would burn properly in the house, so frightened Ella that she felt inclined to give up the use of lamps altogether, and burn nothing but candles. On second thoughts, however, and after consulting Mrs. Mobberly, to whom she always referred in all her difficulties, she sent instead for the man who had supplied the lamps, and had them all reviewed.

He declared that all the mischief arose from the dirty state of the lamps, which, much to the indignation of the maids, he requested Ella to look at, to prove the truth of his words.

“If you have good lamps, and keep them perfectly clean, and burn good oil, you are quite safe,” he said; “but if you neglect any of those three, they are the most dangerous things you can have about a house.”

Ella honestly acknowledged that she knew nothing at all about lamps, and had never cleaned one in her life, but she was determined to understand the matter thoroughly now, and begged the man to explain exactly what cleansing was necessary to keep them in good order.

He advised that the lamp glasses and globes should be washed every week with warm water, soap, and soda, but they must be most carefully dried before using. The different parts of the burner should be brushed out, or rubbed clean with a cloth every day; and at least once in two months the whole brass fittings taken off and well washed.

In a well-made lamp all parts of the burner should take to pieces in order to be cleaned. The wick-tube and perforated plate through which the air has to pass to feed the flame should be most particularly seen to. Charred wick and paper, match heads and dust are often allowed to fill up the holes of the grid, causing a poor flame, a bad smell, and, not unfrequently, an explosion.

“Don’t be afraid of plenty of warm water and soap and soda,” the man repeated; “only you’d better look out pretty sharp, miss, and see that they get the whole thing perfectly dry before it is lighted again, or you’ll be having another explosion, and perhaps you won’t come off as well next time.”

Ella thanked the man for his goodnatured advice, and determined henceforward to examine the lamps for herself every day, to make sure her directions were really carried out. Both she and the nurse made as light as possible of the affair to Mrs. Wilson, who, on seeing for herself that Annie was not much the worse, was quite contented that it had been a very trifling matter which had unnecessarily frightened them; and feeling herself worn out and irritable with sleeplessness, and the consequent feverishness, she indulged in some rather biting sarcasms on the “hysterical young ladies of the present day, who make a fuss about nothing at all,” and begged Ella to remember that she liked the house kept quiet last thing at night.

These very undeserved reproaches were rather hard for poor Ella to bear, but she managed to keep silence, and as soon as she was released consoled herself by writing a doleful letter to her mother, with a full account of the whole affair, adding the oft-repeated remark that “she would never be able to manage a house—it was not in her.”

As she expected, her letter brought a speedy reply.

“You must not be discouraged, my child,” wrote her mother, “when you have to accept blame for the faults of others; that is the very essence of self-denial, to give up everything, even the credit you feel you have deserved, for the sake of others; and if it cost you no effort to do, it would be no denial of self. At any rate you have been successful, for the very fact that you are blamed proves that you have saved Aunt Mary the worry and annoyance of knowing her servants to be careless and incompetent, and thereby you have done much to help on her recovery.

“Now about the lamps. My own experience has taught me one or two other lessons, which I will pass on to you.

“The wick must fit the lamp, and be the right kind for that particular burner. If you are not sure about the kind to get, they will always advise you if you go to a good shop to buy the wick.

“Then, again, the oil is not (or should not be) all burnt out before the lamp is refilled, but fresh oil is added to what is already in. After this process has been continued some time, however, the oil becomes turbid, and gives a disagreeable smell when the lamp is lighted. To avoid this, the oil should occasionally be emptied out of the lamp, and the whole thing washed before being refilled with fresh oil.

“You cannot insist too strongly on proper care being used in filling the lamps; one brilliant housemaid we had when you were children was caught filling a lamp holding it over the kitchen fire, that the oil might run over on to the fire, and not make a mess on the floor. After that I filled them myself till I got a maid whom I could thoroughly trust.

“And do not try to be economical in buying the oil; I cannot advise you which kind to use, as I do not remember what the lamps are like, but go to a good shop, and get the best they recommend. I have generally used a very good kind, called ‘water-white.’ The poor oils throw off a most explosive gas at a low heat, and do not give so much light as better oils. If you are careful on all these points, you need not be in the least nervous about the lamps; we have always used them till the last year or two, and have never had an explosion or accident of any sort.”

With all this information to guide her, coupled with her own observation of the construction of the lamps, Ella felt herself mistress of the situation, and determined that for once she would insist upon having her own way.

She had the oil removed to the little outhouse again, the door of which she locked, and kept the key herself, only giving it to Annie at the time she had appointed for filling the lamps.

The result of this decided measure was that Annie became sullen and disobliging, while the cook, taking her part, made rude remarks in a tone purposely loud enough for Ella to hear, about the discomfort of having two mistresses in the house; and nurse caught her, a short time afterwards, complaining to Mrs. Wilson of Ella’s overbearing ways and unreasonable orders, and of the “nasty, stuck-up ways” of the nurse. She was very quickly and unceremoniously turned out of the room; but the mischief was already done, for Mrs. Wilson, with the natural irritableness of an invalid, insisted on having the servants admitted to the room whenever they wished to see her, and partly, too, in consequence of her weakness, which made her unwilling to have any kind of upset in the house, and partly that she believed the servants to be honest and trustworthy, while she knew Ella was ignorant and inexperienced, Mrs. Wilson made matters worse by always taking their part, and blaming Ella for actions which had existed only in the imaginations of the maids.

One complaint especially annoyed Ella. At home they had always been accustomed to arrange the work and the meals on Sundays so that not only the family, but the servants also, might attend a Bible class in the afternoon, in addition to the regular morning or evening service; and as she was very anxious that the servants at Hapsleigh should have the same liberty, Ella had done as much as she could of the necessary work for the sick room herself on that day, and had so managed that one or other of the maids had been able to go out every Sunday afternoon since her arrival.

It was, therefore, with considerable surprise and vexation that Mrs. Wilson one morning showed her a note she had just received from the teacher of the Bible class Annie was supposed to attend, asking if she could be spared to come once in the month, so that the lady should not lose sight of her altogether.

This was rather too much for Ella’s patience, and after with some difficulty convincing Mrs. Wilson that the girl had not even once been hindered from attending the class, she went straight off to call on the teacher. It seemed that Annie had lamented to that lady that with sickness in the house and an unreasonable young mistress, she would be unable to attend the class until Mrs. Wilson was well again; whereas in reality she had been going every Sunday to visit some friends whom she knew would be disapproved of both by her mistress and her teacher.

However, happily for all parties, matters were coming to a crisis.

Ella went, as usual, one morning to speak to the old gardener, whom she found digging in a secluded corner of the garden, with the ducks following closely at his heels, and poking with their flat bills into the freshly-turned earth, searching for worms or any other choice morsels that good fortune might bring in their way.

The old man evidently had something on his mind, and, after the usual greetings and inquiries after Mrs. Wilson, he stuck his spade into the earth and leaned his arms on the top of it, as if prepared for a long conversation; at which the old drake cocked his head on one side, and stared at him out of one eye with an air of virtuous indignation at having his own labours interrupted in this way.

The conversation did not seem easy to begin, however, and it was only after a good deal of hesitation that he said at last—

“I’ve lived along of the missus now these forty year.”

“Yes, I know you have, Mallard. Why, I remember you all my life,” replied Ella, wondering what was coming.

“Well, Miss Ella, I ain’t told no tales, and I ain’t goin’ to tell no tales; but what I say I say; and that is as ’ow there’s things goes on in this ’ouse as ’adn’t ought to; and I ain’t lived along o’ the family, man and boy, these forty years without knowin’ as when the doors is locked at night they ought to be locked, and not so many goin’ in and out as what there is.”

And having finished this enigmatical speech, accompanied by many mysterious nods and winks, the old man pulled up his spade, and, touching his hat to Ella, disappeared amongst the bushes, leaving Ella and the ducks gazing after him in mutual astonishment.

(To be continued.)