"I don't think they had better climb any higher," said Charity a little anxiously; "the branches seem so thin."
"Oh, they're all right," Charlie cried. "Well, my men, what do you see?"
Hope was looking through the telescope now; she turned and said something to Faith, who was on a branch just below her.
Faith unrolled her flags. One of them slipped from her grasp. She made a hasty movement to catch it, and lost her balance. There was an awful crash of branches, a scream, and a heavy thud, and poor little Faith lay a huddled-up heap at the foot of the tree!
Charity rushed to pick her up, and rent the air with her screams:
"She's dead! Faith is dead! Aunt Alice! Granny! Come quick! Faith is killed."
Granny and Aunt Alice heard the cries and ran out. Aunt Alice picked up the unconscious child and carried her into the house, and up to her bed. Charlie's father was sent for, and happily he had just arrived home from his rounds, so no time was lost, but he looked very grave when he saw the little girl.
"It's extraordinary that no bones are broken," he said; "but she pitched on her head. It is concussion of the brain."
Faith was unconscious, but she was alive. The sobbing, frightened children in the orchard soon heard that bit of welcome news. Charlie was taken home by his father; Charity and Hope stole about the house on tiptoe. It had to be kept very quiet for many days, and Faith lay between life and death. Aunt Alice never left her. It was astonishing now that Faith was ill to find out how many friends she had in the village. All day long people were coming to enquire after the poor "little lady."
Old Timothy called in every evening on his way home from the farm.