But only the echo of her own cries came back to her from the surrounding hill-tops.
CHAPTER IX.
Divided between curiosity and hunger, Paula stood for some seconds deliberating whether she should go to join the group of people in the distant field or eat her supper. She finally decided upon a compromise, and, carefully spreading a delicate slice of bread, she made a sandwich of it by adding a bit of boiled ham, and thus fortified for any emergency she left the house.
She walked rapidly, at the same time casting furtive glances about lest somebody should see her “unladylike” performance of taking her supper “on the fly,” as was the habit of harum-scarum Octave. But no one observed her, or would have been at all shocked had they done so; and when the sandwich was finished the girl quickened her steps to a run, and reached her family in a breathless state unusual with her.
It was a scene of confusion upon which she came so hurriedly; but her first exclamation was one of relief: “Oh, it is only Octave!”
“Only Octave!” spoke volumes. It showed how familiar the elder sister had become with that unlucky maiden’s misfortunes; which were, indeed, even one degree more frequent than those of little Fritz, and he appeared—according to his Aunt Ruth’s fancy—to exist merely for the sake of tumbling out of one scrape into another. That Octave had not before this displayed her aptitude for disaster was due to the fact that provocation for such was rare at the peaceful Snuggery.
“‘Only Octave!’ but she has about done for herself, this time,” replied Uncle Fritz. He sat on the ground, holding his niece in his arms, looking very anxious but very red and heated as well. He was too stout to make the swift run he did without suffering for it, and Paula stooped down and offered to take his place in supporting the girl who lay so still and white before them all.
Even in the midst of her anxiety Aunt Ruth noticed Paula’s action, and was more pleased by it than she was accustomed to be by that “young lady’s” ways. It showed a consideration and sisterliness which, in her first hasty estimate of “Miss Pickel’s” character, the aunt had believed to be entirely wanting.
Grandmother Kinsolving stood at a little distance from the group, resting against Content, while Christina and Fritzy hugged each other in a terror of some great grief.
“What is it all about?” asked Paula, anxiously, bending to see if Octave was not beginning to breathe again, and even then shrinking a trifle from the streams of water with which Uncle Fritz, with a liberal impartiality, was deluging his unconscious niece and all who surrounded her.