Smoke

In the early thirties, the economy was still in the doldrums from the Great Depression. Clothes were still hard to come by, and Mom was making my clothes out of hand-me-downs sent to us from Aunt Mabel in Boston.
Word went around town one day that there had been a train accident and fire, and that Hussey's Dry Goods store was having a big sale of smoke-damaged clothing. My friend Tillie and I hit up our parents for some money and rushed over to Hussey's . It was a great sale! We each bought two dresses for 25 cents each. Tillie bought a plaid 'fish-tail' coat (the hem of which started at your knees in front, them went down to a V in the back) for a dollar, and I bought a nice grey wool for another buck. We rushed home to display our wonderful bargains.
Mom was thrilled, although the clothing did reek of smoke, but after a few hours hanging on the outdoor clothesline (and a few dabs of Lily of the Valley perfume) they were quite wearable.
Sunday morning found us in church, proudly displaying our new clothes. It was a cold day, and we were late, so we had to find room in the vestry. The vestry was always cold so there was a huge parlor stove at the far side to supplement the furnace heat. Tillie and I quickly sidled up to the front of it and stood warming our backs while the sermon went on. The Rev. Murchy was talking about Hebrew children and the fiery furnace. and my coat began to smell like smoke.
I thought "Oh, dear, the heat is bringing out the smoke smell from the train fire," and backed away from the stove, only to discover I had singed a big patch on the back of my new coat. I learned the old saying,"Where there's smoke there's fire," was only too true.