He did not relish the thought of taking
down the old four-post bedstead and putting rakes and shovels in its
place, but all he could say was -
"I don't quite fall in with it."
"WHY not? Now, my dear, I will make a bargain with you. If you can
assign a good reason, I will give it up; but, if you cannot, then,
of course, we ought to go, because _I_ have plenty of reasons for
going. Nothing can be fairer than that."
Mr. Furze was not quite clear about the "ought," although it was so
fair, but he was mute, and, after a pause, went into his shop. An
accident decided the question. Catharine was the lightest sleeper
in the house, notwithstanding her youth. Two nights after this
controversy she awoke suddenly and smelt something burning. She
jumped out of bed, flung her dressing-gown over her, opened her
door, and found the landing full of smoke. Without a moment's
hesitation she rushed out and roused her parents. They were both
bewildered, and hesitated, ejaculating all sorts of useless things.
Catharine was impatient.
"Now, then, not a second; upstairs through Jane's bedroom, out into
the gutter, and through Hopkins's attic. You cannot go downstairs."
Still there was trembling and indecision.
"But the tin box," gasped Mr. Furze; "it is in the wardrobe. I must
take it."
Catharine replied by literally driving them before her. They picked
up the maid-servant, crept behind the high parapet, and were soon in
safety.
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