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. She
barely escaped the whole blaze coming in her face.

"What's that!" shrieked Mrs. Dorcas, rushing to the cellar-door.
Words can not describe her feeling when she saw that her nice
candle-wicks, the fruit of her day's toil, were burnt up.

If ever there was a wretched culprit that night, Ann was. She had not
meant to do wrong, but that, maybe, made it worse for her in one way.
She had not even gratified malice to sustain her. Grandma blamed her,
almost as severely as Mrs. Dorcas. She said she didn't know what
would "become of a little gal, that was so keerless," and decreed
that she must stay at home from school and work on candle-wicks till
Mrs. Dorcas' loss was made good to her. Ann listened ruefully. She
was scared and sorry, but that did not seem to help matters any. She
did not want any supper, and she went to bed early and cried herself
to sleep.