"We can't see from here," said the one who had spoken, and the mother rushed forward, shading her eyes with her hand, and straining to catch the first glimpse of her child.
She would have rushed down the road to meet them, but Mrs. Dainty held her back. She had seen that they were carrying Floretta, and she thought, in case the child were injured, the mother would far better save her strength.
Two of the men had clasped their hands to form an "arm-chair," and thus they brought to the piazza, a very limp, tired Floretta, whose vivacity was all gone, and whose face bore the trace of desperate weeping, while her arms and hands were covered with cuts and bruises, and her little frock was torn and tattered by her struggle with the tough and tightly knotted vines.
She lay back against the shoulder of one man who supported her, and looked as if her strength were spent.
She changed on the instant that they set her on her feet.
Rushing to her mother, she permitted her to clasp her for a moment to her breast, then turning to the group that gathered around her, she cried fiercely:
"Look! See my hands! See my arms! See the scratches, where I tried to get away, and it was Sidney Cumston who tied me! He did it, but the other boys let him. Not one tried to hinder him except Jack Tiverton, the littlest one of them all. He tried to make them let me go, but they wouldn't. Oh, somebody punish all but Jack! He tried, but he couldn't help me."
She was hysterical, and sank to the floor of the piazza, sobbing, and crying, before her mother could catch her.
She scrambled to her feet, and was clasped in her mother's arms.
Old Mr. Cunningham surprised every one by speaking most kindly to her. She had so often tormented him that it seemed generous that he should offer a bit of comfort.