“The cow,” said the doctor, looking suddenly stern. “Did you go into the barnyard?”
“Yes, sir, we always do, you know.”
“Didn’t you get my message?”
“Yes—but—well, I didn’t really believe Mamie, ’cause she didn’t say why,” burst out Cricket, after a moment’s hesitation. “And we always go in the barns whenever we wish, and ’Gustus John never says a word. And oh, dear! I do feel as if the socket was pulled out of my arm.” And Cricket, between excitement and pain, burst out crying.
Her father had gathered enough from her story to feel sure that there had been no real disobedience, and seeing the children’s nervousness and pain, he put them both into the buggy, and as speedily as possible gave them over into the care of mamma and nurse.
It was several days before Eunice was herself again, for she had really had a hard blow both on the back and head, and for two days she was actually willing to remain in bed. She really very seldom met with accidents, for she was not by nature nearly so much of a romp as her younger sister, and was far less rash and heedless.
Cricket was as chirpy as ever the next day. Her knee was bound up and she hobbled about, rather enjoying the attention she received. Her left arm was somewhat stiff and lame, for she had hit her left side with considerable force as she landed, although her striking Eunice had somewhat broken her fall.
The whole story had come out, and, as usual, Cricket had to undergo a fire of teasing.
“A girl with the sockets pulled out of her arms ought to go to the Dime Museum,” laughed papa, as they all sat on the piazza that evening after supper. “She’s a natural curiosity.”
“If I’m a natural curiosity, then I wish I were an unnatural one. I don’t think I’m nice a bit,” said Cricket, candidly. “Things never happen to Eunice and Hilda, if I’m not along. Just think, if I hadn’t hit Eunice she wouldn’t have been hurt a bit,” for Cricket took her sister’s injuries very much to heart.