Softly Lydia crept out of bed and pattered across the sleeping-porch. She groped her way through the bedroom and started downstairs. And then, somehow, she tripped over her long nightgown, and down the stairs she crashed head first.
It seemed as if Father reached the foot of the stairs almost as soon as Lydia did. He picked her up carefully, and felt all over for broken bones, and then he carried the sobbing Lydia upstairs, and tenderly placed her in Mother’s arms.
“My head! My foot! Lucy Locket!” sobbed Lydia.
There was a big lump on her head, and out came the bottle of witch hazel to be used with soothing effect. The bruised ankle was gently rubbed with something that smelled like furniture polish.
And then Lydia was tucked in bed again, this time with Lucy Locket beside her.
But instead of going to sleep, Lydia began to cry. She was tired, and excited, and frightened by her fall. At first she cried so softly that only Lucy Locket knew it, but the sobs grew so loud that in a moment Father said, “Lydia, crying?”
A sniff was all Lydia’s answer, but it said, “Yes, Father, I’m crying,” as plainly as could be.
Mr. Blake put out his strong right arm and pulled Lydia’s little bed close beside his own.
“What’s the trouble, Lydia?” said he gently.
“I’m afraid,” said Lydia, with another sniff. “I’m afraid a big fish will come out of the river and get me.” And she really thought that was the reason she was crying.