“Might run and tell Granny,” groaned Grandfather.
No sooner said than to his astonishment the little fellow disappeared, running down the path toward the road. For some time thereafter Grandfather lay struggling with his groans and his pain. It hardly seemed possible that Ginkle could bring help, and Grandma was far away, as he remembered, alas.
The birds chirped cheerfully, and the insects hummed. The wind sounded among the pines. From the lake he could hear the distant sound of the passing launch. Otherwise the only sound was his own groaning.
What had become of Ginkle? He had set out at a full run, and a short time later appeared at the gate to the cottage, and rushing up the path and the steps, threw the door wide open yelling—
“Granny—Granny!”
There was no answer. Grandmother was not yet at home. Crying loudly, and still calling for “Granny,” the lad ran down the path to the road, as tho not knowing what to do next. There he stood crying by the open gate, both his fists in his eyes. He stopped suddenly at an unexpected sound.
“Hi there, little boy, what’s the matter?”
In his crying he had not noticed that a car had stopped in which sat two men.
“That’s right, little boy, quit your crying,” shouted one of them.
Ginkle stared a moment, then he yelled—