Marjorie was sobbing all the while she was talking, and as she stammered out these remarks between her choking sobs, Miss Larkin was not a little perplexed to understand her.
“Brutus? Cæsar? what do you mean?” she asked.
“Oh, we were playing Shakespeare,” began Marjorie, “and now I come to think of it, it was all my fault for getting up the game.”
Just then, Doctor Mendel arrived, and came briskly into the living-room.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed, in his hearty way; “what’s the matter now? Have you young barbarians been breaking each other’s bones?”
Then, as he saw Kitty, white and still, upon the floor, he stooped down silently, and bent over the little girl.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, as, after a moment, he looked up and saw the scared and anxious faces watching him; “she’ll be all right, soon; have you any smelling salts?”
Marjorie’s thoughts flew uncertainly toward the saltcellars in the dining-room, but Miss Larkin answered, “Yes, I have,” and running up to her own room, she returned with a vial of Crown Salts.
“That’s the ticket!” said the doctor, and carefully holding the dark-green bottle beneath Kitty’s nose, he watched her face closely, for he was more afraid of the after-consequences than of her present state.
And, sure enough, as the closed lids fluttered open, and the color came slowly back to the white cheeks, Kitty gave a convulsive shudder, caught sight of Rosy Posy’s bandaged arm, and fell into a hysterical crying-fit.