When she came to get tea, she tied the white fleecy
rolls together, a great bundle of them, and hung them up in the
cellar-way, over the stairs, to be out of the way. They were extra
fine wicks, being made of flax for the company candles. "I've got a
good job done," said Mrs. Dorcas, surveying them complacently. Her
husband had gone to Boston, and was not coming home till the next
day, so she had had a nice chance to work at them, without as much
interruption as usual.
Ann, going down the cellar-stairs, with a lighted candle, after some
butter for tea, spied the beautiful rolls swinging overhead. What
possessed her to, she could not herself have told--she certainly had
no wish to injure Mrs. Dorcas' wicks--but she pinched up a little end
of the fluffy flax and touched her candle to it. She thought she
would see how that little bit would burn off. She soon found out. The
flame caught, and ran like lightning through the whole bundle. There
was a great puff of fire and smoke, and poor Mrs. Dorcas' fine
candle-wicks were gone. Ann screamed, and sprang downstairs.
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