"Mammy done killed herself," he repeated, wringing his hands in terror.
A moan from the interior of the house seemed to make it clear that something had happened.
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.