Mrs. Frost pushed the door open and entered.

Chloe had sunk down on the floor and was rocking back and forth, holding her right foot in both hands, with an expression of acute pain on her sable face. Beside her was a small pail, bottom upward.

Mrs. Frost was at no loss to conjecture the nature of the accident which had befallen her. The pail had contained hot water, and its accidental overturn had scalded poor Chloe.

"Are you much hurt, Chloe?" asked Mrs. Frost sympathizingly.

"Oh, missus, I's most dead," was the reply, accompanied by a groan. " 'Spect I sha'n't live till mornin'. Dunno what'll become of poor Pomp when I'se gone."

Little Pomp squeezed his knuckles into his eyes and responded with an unearthly howl.

"Don't be too much frightened, Chloe," said Mrs. Frost soothingly. "You'll get over it sooner than you think. How did the pail happen to turn over?"

"Must have been de debbel, missus. I was kerryin' it just as keerful, when all at once it upsot."