The next morning, Kettle was conscious and in terrible pain, but an occasional sharp cry was the only complaint wrung from him. Whenever Betty would say, her eyes brimming with pitiful tears, "Kettle, I know the pain is dreadful," Kettle would reply stoutly:
"Naw, 'tain't, Miss Betty. 'Tain't as bad as you think."
For days and nights this went on, but Kettle hung on gallantly to his life, and in the midst of his agony would gasp out:
"Doan' you cry, Miss Betty. This heah pain is a-gittin' better all the time."
At the end of a week Dr. Markham said that Kettle would get well. His burns were very bad, but his face and hands were not disfigured, and although his body would be scarred for life, he might yet be restored to health. The kitchen and Aunt Tulip's room had been repaired, and Kettle was transferred to Aunt Tulip's room, while Uncle Cesar occupied the little cubby-hole where Kettle had slept.
Gradually the little house at Holly Lodge assumed its usual aspect. The Colonel and Betty were flooded with offers of hospitality and with all sorts of services--those kindly acts which in country communities bridge over catastrophes. Fortescue was gone, having left the second day after Christmas. On that day he had come over to Holly Lodge to say good-by and to offer the resources of Rosehill in any emergency. He had come while Betty was watching Kettle, and although the Colonel urged that he might call her, Fortescue evaded it, and cut his visit short. The Colonel asked him if he himself had suffered any evil effects from the fire. Fortescue replied that his eyes had given him some trouble from the smoke, and that he would use the rest of his leave in going to New York to see an oculist. He supposed it was nothing, and that his eyes would cease to trouble him probably before he got to New York. The Colonel told this to Betty in good faith, but Betty's interpretation was that Fortescue needed an excuse to go away as soon as possible, and gave herself no concern about his eyes. In her heart, however, still burned a deep resentment, and a longing regret for Fortescue. He was so brave--he was so much the soldier--and then Betty would check herself sternly, and try to think of him no more.