“Bring him up here. If he is injured, we must take care of him, for he is our uncle.”
Merry hesitated.
“Bring him up,” said little Jack, stoutly. “Wait, and I will come down. Perhaps I can help you.”
“No; you cannot help. Stay where you are, and hold the light.”
Then, after considerable trouble, the young fireman lifted the man’s limp body in his arms and carried him up the stairs.
“Put him on my bed,” whispered Nellie. “Oh, it was such a hard fall, and he is our uncle! We must do something for him.”
“It is our duty,” said Jack.
“If I can’t bring him round pretty soon, I’ll go for a doctor,” declared Frank. “Perhaps he is dying.”
But old Joe was not dying. After some minutes he groaned again and slowly opened his eyes. He was completely bewildered, as his manner showed. He stared at those near the bed, then closed his eyes again, and his lips moved.
“I’ve got ’em.”