"Is she yelling like fury?" inquired Dolly, who herself lay placid and white-faced, though her blue eyes showed the strain she had undergone.
"Yes, she is," and Trudy smiled a little. "You two children are so different. I wish you would yell a little and not look so patiently miserable."
"What's Dolly yelling about? Because she hurts so?"
"Partly that; and partly because she's blaming herself for the whole thing."
"How ridiculous! She isn't a bit more to blame than I am. She proposed skating, but it was because I ran into her that we fell down. I tried to steer out but I couldn't."
"Don't think about who is to blame; that doesn't matter. The only thing to think about is to get well as quick as you can."
"But we can't do anything to help that along; the doctors have to do that."
"Indeed you can help a lot. If you're patient and quiet and cheerful you will get well sooner than if you fuss and fret and cry. That might cause fever and inflammation and all sorts of things."
Trudy was sitting on the edge of Dolly's bed and she smiled lovingly down at her little sister. "I'm going to take care of you," she went on; "Mother wants to have a trained nurse, but I think you would like it better to have me for a nurse, wouldn't you?"
"I'd like it better," and Dolly looked up wistfully, "but I don't want to bother you too much, Trudy."