When I was a child in Iowa, we lived directly across the road from the local blacksmith and his family. The road was evidently a dividing line for school districts, because the Mitchell boys attended a different one-room school than I did.
It was December, and my mom and I were going to go with the Mitchells to see the boys' school Christmas program; we went over to their house a little ahead of time. The kids and I wandered upstairs to play while our parents were visiting. As was true of all the old two-story houses of that day, the upstairs wasn't heated and it was really cold up there.
In the 1940's and '50's, lots of folks had lights that hooked over the top of their their headboards, so if they wanted to read in bed, or simply have a light close at hand, there it was; you didn't even have to sit up to turn it on because it was right above your face. I've scoured the Internet looking for a picture of such a light, but didn't find one like I remember. If you are my age, perhaps you know what I'm talking about.
Anyway, there was a headboard lamp hooked onto head of the bed the boys shared, and I got an incredible idea: light bulbs put out heat, so why not turn that lamp on and put it under the covers so that when we returned from the program, the boys would have a nice warm bed.
I have no idea why I had such concern for little Lloyd and Gary.
They returned, after the program, to a smoke-filled house and a smoldering mattress; I remember seeing it on the lawn the next day, black and smelly, where it had landed after being shoved out the window.
Looking back, I'm sure the kids must have told their mom it was my bright idea to put the light under the covers, but nobody ever accused me; and I went around carrying what I thought was a dirty little secret inside me for a long, long time.
This is the school I attended in Iowa