Everything was bustle and confusion, but as Sarah brought warm water and a sponge, and Nannie washed the little wounded arm, they found it was only a deep, jagged scratch—bad enough, to be sure—but not a dangerous hurt.
King had already telephoned for the doctor, and in the meantime they all tried to restore Kitty to consciousness.
“She’s dead, I’m sure,” wailed Miss Larkin, wringing her hands, as she looked at the still little figure lying on the floor. They had put a pillow beneath her head, but Nannie advised them not to move her.
“Oh, no, Miss Larkin; don’t say that,” pleaded Marjorie; “I’m sure her eye-winkers are fluttering. Wake up, wake up, Kitty dear; Baby’s all right. Please wake up.”
But Kitty made no response, and Marjorie turned to throw her arms round King’s neck, who stood by, looking the picture of hopeless woe.
CHAPTER V
REMORSEFUL ROMANS
“I did it,” groaned King; “it was all my fault. Kitty was so careful with that sharp dagger, and then I tickled her feet, and it made her wiggle, and she upset right on the baby. Oh, I’ve killed dear little Kitty!”
“Maybe you haven’t,” said Marjorie, hopefully. “Maybe she’ll wake up in a minute. And it wasn’t your fault anyway, King. You didn’t mean to upset her, and anybody’s got a right to tickle people’s feet.”
“No; I ought to have remembered that she had that sharp paper-cutter, and that she might tumble over. It’s all my fault.”
“It isn’t your fault,” repeated Marjorie, stoutly. “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s old Brutus’s, for insisting on taking off his boots before he stabbed Cæsar.”