“That'th a thpill! Girlth an' onionth! Girlth an' onionth!” shouted Chub, but Mandy, who was older, knew quite enough to be frightened, that is, frightened for her own safety. If the little girls were hurt, would some one blame her or Chub?
The driver had stopped the thoroughly terrified horse, the pung was not injured, so he thought he might see if the children were harmed.
Mandy had helped Arabella to her feet, and picked up her shawls, which had fallen off. She was more frightened than hurt, but her feelings were injured. Patricia, brushing the snow from her cloak, spoke her thoughts very plainly.
“Chub's a perfectly horrid boy,” she said, “and we might have broken our necks.”
“Ye didn't, though,” said Mandy.
“And I shouldn't wonder if Ma had him put in the big lock-up,” she said, “for scaring our horse, and tipping us out on the road. We may get reumonia for being thrown into the snow.”
“Ye can't 'rest Chub; he ain't nothin' but a big baby,” said Mandy, “an' what's reumonia, anyway?”
Patricia would not reply. The driver helped them to pick up the cushions, but the bag of onions, which he had forgotten to take to the big house, he left where they lay in the road. They were too widely scattered to be gathered up.
Chub found a huge one, and commenced to eat it as eagerly as if it had been a luscious bit of fruit.
“Thith ith fine,” he said as he took a big bite from the onion.