"Billy couldn't have helped it," Peggy said hastily, fearful lest blame should be attached to her brother.
"No, the little boy was not to blame," agreed the policeman. "Are you going to take charge of the children, sir?" he asked of the clergyman.
"Yes. I know them well; their father is Mr. Pringle, the organist of St. John's Church. What is this?" Mr. Maloney questioned as he took the card the policeman presented to him.
"The lady in the carriage gave it to me, sir. I have made a note of the name and the address. Maybe the little girl's father will make some claim—"
"I imagine not," interposed the clergyman quickly; "but I will take the card and give it to Mr. Pringle. Thank you,"—and he slipped the bit of pasteboard into his vest pocket.
"Oh, Billy, I dropped the buns!" exclaimed Peggy regretfully. They had no money to buy more, and the buns had been purchased for a treat.
"The horses trod on them," Billy replied; "but, never mind, mother won't think anything about them when she knows what's happened. I'm afraid she'll never trust you out alone with me any more."
The little girl made no response. The pain in her shoulder was making her feel sick and faint, and her legs trembled as she walked along by Mr. Maloney's side, her hand in his. He saw she was suffering, and regarded her with compassionate eyes, whilst he exchanged remarks with Billy. Soon she began to lose the drift of her companions' conversation, and when at length, home—a small house, one of a terrace—was reached, the shock she had received proved too much for her, and she fell insensible into her mother's arms.
When Peggy regained consciousness, she found herself undressed and in bed. Everything was very quiet, but she was aware of some one's presence, and it was no surprise when soft lips met hers in a loving kiss, and her mother's voice said, "You are better, Peggy dear."
Then she was gently raised in bed, and, to her astonishment, she found her shoulder was bandaged; but she was not in much pain now, so she took the bread and milk offered to her, and lay down again, feeling strangely weak and tired, and disinclined to talk.