But now, Hannah, who had been far too much interested in her loom to stop to talk until its arrangements were complete, found time to ask: 

“What about that fire at Brudenell Hall?”

“Didn’t young Ishmael tell you, ma’am?” inquired the professor.

“Very little!  I was asleep when he came in last night, and this morning, when I saw that his clothes were all scorched, and his hair singed, and his hands and face red and blistered, and I asked him what in the world he had been doing to himself, he told me there had been a fire at the Hall; but that it was put out before any great damage had been done; nothing but that old wing, that they talked about pulling down, burnt, as if to save them the trouble,” answered Hannah.

“Well, ma’am, that was a cheerful way of putting it, certainly; and it was also a true one; there wasn’t much damage done, as the wing that was burnt was doomed to be pulled down this very spring.  But did young Ishmael tell you how he received his injuries?”

“No; but I suppose of course he got them, boy-like, bobbing about among the firemen, where he had no business to be!”

“Ma’am, he got burned in saving Commodore Burghe’s sons, who were fast asleep in that burning wing!  Mrs. Middleton offered freedom to any slave who would venture through the house to wake them up, and get them out.  Not a man would run the risk!  Then she offered freedom, not only to any slave, but also to the wife and children of any slave who would go in and save the boys.  Not a man would venture!  And when all the women were a-howling like a pack of she-wolves, what does your nephew do but rush into the burning wing, rouse up the boys and convoy them out!  Just in time, too! for they were sleeping in the chamber over the burning room, and in two minutes after they got out the floor of that room fell in!” said Morris.

“You did that!  You!” exclaimed Hannah vehemently.  “Oh! you horrid, wicked, ungrateful, heartless boy! to do such a thing as that, when you knew if you had been burnt to death, it would have broken my heart!  And you, professor! you are just as bad as he is! yes, and worse too, because you are older and ought to have more sense!  The boy was in your care! pretty care you took of him to let him rush right into the fire.”

“Ma’am, if you’ll only let me get in a word edgeways like, I’ll tell you all about it!  I did try to hinder him!  I reasoned with him, and I held him tight, until the young hero—­rascal, I mean—­turned upon me and hit me in the face; yes, ma’am, administered a ‘scientific’ right into my left eye, and then broke from me and rushed into the burning house—­”

“Well, but I thought it better the professor should have a black eye than the boys should be burned to death,” put in the lad, edgeways.

“Oh, Ishmael, Ishmael, this is dreadful!  You will live to be hung, I know you will!” sobbed Hannah.

“Well, aunty, maybe so; Sir William Wallace did,” coolly replied the boy.