Carrie was deeply impressed; it was not her nature to weep easily over anything, but she approached the nursery fire and stood gazing at the cruel element that had worked such sad havoc on her poor little playmate. Patty, with hysteric exclamations, pulled her back and declared she would never have an easy moment again—never. But a few moments later she found it necessary to flounce off to the kitchen, to repeat her tale there with many sappy additions. Carrie, thus deserted, quietly drew her little chair close to the fire, and looked at the flames with a very serious face. She even extended one of her fat little fingers towards the bars experimentally, withdrawing it, however, with less caution, and a moment later she said ‘Poor Phil!’ with heart-felt compassion. Patty ran in then, and shook her roughly. ‘What did I say, Miss Carrie?—never beyond the rug, and there you do sit close in to the very blaze! How, Miss Carrie, mind you obey me better, and partickerly in this, never to say one word of Master Phil to the master or the mistress. And if so be you do, well, of this I’m sure as I stand in my shoes: you’ll never play again with Master Phil so long as you live.’ Carrie did not in the least understand the reason of all this mystery about Phil; but she reiterated once more her promise of secrecy. That night as she curtseyed to her parents at bedtime, she said suddenly— ‘Doth burning hurt, dada?’ Sebastian laughed. ‘Are you going to the stake, Carrie?’ he said. ‘No, not _me_,’ said Carrie, with some congratulation in her tones. One day, some three weeks after this, Patty said mysteriously to Carrie that they were going out that afternoon to pay a visit. ‘We are to see Master Phil,’ she said, when they were in the street; and Carrie jumped for joy. ‘O Patty, I am so glad! Is he better? Where are we to see him?’ she cried. ‘In his bed, miss, but mind if ever you do say a word——’ Carrie was quite impatient. ‘You are most strange about Phil, Patty,’ she said; ‘I am sure he is nicer far to speak about than any one else I know.’ ‘Oh, well, Miss Carrie, we’ll be going home then; we’ll say no more about the visit,’ said Patty, making a feint of turning back. ‘No, no, ’tis all right, I shall say nothing,’ said Carrie. On the steps of the great house, which Carrie knew quite well now, she saw the familiar figure of Mr. Peter, evidently waiting for them. ‘I’ll trouble you to enter by the back way,’ he said, as he greeted them, and with that he conducted his visitors to the kitchen regions. Everything here was bustle and hurry, for up-stairs dinner was being served. They met a French cook in a white paper cap dashing out of the kitchen with a saucepan in his hand, and ran against another man-servant, as tall as Mr. Peter, who carried a silver dish. Then, leaving these regions, they began to climb long, long stairs, and came out at last on to a polished oak corridor hung with pictures.