Gran was sitting in a corner by a little fire.
"Who's hurt?" she inquired testily. "Not one of the family, I hope and pray."
"Jack says it's Red Herbert," replied Mrs. Ellis.
"Put him in the cubby with the boys, then."
But Mrs. Ellis thought of her beloved boys, and hesitated.
"Do you think it's much, Jack?" she asked.
"They're carrying him on a gate," said Jack. "It looks bad."
"Dear o'me!" snapped Gran, in her brittle fashion. "Why couldn't you say so?—Well then—if you don't want to put him in the cubby, there's a bed in my room. Put him there. But I should have thought he could have had Tom's bed, and Tom could have slept here on the sofa."
"Poor Tom," thought Jack.
"Don't"—Gran banged her stick on the floor—"stand there like a pair of sawneys! Get to work! Get to work!"