Meanwhile the strong arms of a neighbour's gardener had lifted Dolly and was carrying her toward her own home.
"It's her leg that's bruk," he said, holding her as gently as possible. "It's good luck she fainted; she'll come round all right, but she's bruk a bone, the poor dear."
It seemed ages to the anxious mothers and friends, but it was really only a short time before doctors arrived and the two little sufferers were put to bed and their injuries attended to.
Sure enough Dolly's leg was broken, and Dotty had a fractured arm.
Both houses were in a tumult of confusion as surgeons and nurses took possession and bones were set and splints and bandages applied.
Dolly Fayre took it quietly and seemed almost awestricken, when at last she realised that she was in her bed to stay for several weeks.
"But it doesn't hurt much," she said wonderingly to Trudy. "Why does it take so long to get well?"
"Because the bone has to knit, dear, and that is a slow process. I'm glad it doesn't hurt, but it may at times. The worst, though, is that you will get very tired lying still so long. But I know what a brave little girl you are, and we will all do all we can to help and amuse you."
"Did Dotty break anything?"
"Yes, she broke her left arm. That is not as bad as your breaking your leg, for she can walk about sooner than you can. But hers is more painful, so there's small choice in the two accidents."