Groping her way along, Lisa at last reached the child. There was a great gap in the roof overhead, and the place was strewed with bits of plaster and brick. The tree had indeed fallen against one of the chimneys, which had toppled in upon the roof.
“Oh, my dear, my little dear!” said Lisa, catching the child in her arms. “You might have been killed. Let me take you and Patience down-stairs.” And Lisa began to make her way in a roundabout fashion back to the stairway.
At the top step she encountered Mr. Danforth with a light. “Miss Holmes,” he exclaimed, “what are you doing up here? I could not find you before, there are so many passages in this rambling old house.”
“I came for Ruth,” replied Lisa. “I thought she might be up here.”
“You might both have been killed.” And as he gave utterance to the words another crash brought down more bricks and mortar.
“I couldn’t leave Patience and Callie,” explained Ruth. “And poor Patience is dead. A brick fell right on her head.”
“Maybe she can be cured,” Lisa tried to comfort her by saying, as she put her cheek against the child’s soft hair. “Never mind, dear; you are sure you are not hurt? And Callie,—perhaps Callie had not gone to bed yet,” she whispered. “Maybe we shall find her in her own room where Persis and I sleep. Let us go and see.—Please tell Mrs. Chamberlaine that Ruth is safe,” was the only remark she vouchsafed Mr. Danforth, as, with Ruth’s arms clasping her neck and with the battered doll held closely, she passed into her room, leaving Mr. Danforth looking after her.
“Please tell Mrs. Chamberlaine that Ruth is safe.”
