"Of course we will," gasped the youth. "Help me lift him, Laura. Oh, the poor kid!"
Only the few people near by had seen the accident. Not even a policeman came. Laura and Purt staggered to the car with the wrapped-up body of the smaller lad. His face was horribly blackened, but that might be nothing but smoke. Just how badly Billy Long was injured they could not guess.
Mrs. Sweet shrank back into the corner of the tonneau seat and begged Laura to get in with the injured boy.
"I can't! I can't touch him!" wailed the woman. "It's awful! Suppose he should be dead?"
"He's not dead," declared Purt. "We won't let him die--the poor kid! Here, mother, you hold his head and we'll lay him down on the seat. Let his head and shoulders lie right in your lap."
"Oh, Laura! Do come!" cried the woman.
"I can't, Mrs. Sweet!" returned Laura, sobbing. "I've got to stay and watch my pot boil. Do be quick, Purt!"
She stepped out of the car. Purt slammed the tonneau door and leaped to the steering wheel. In a moment the self-starter sputtered, and then the car wheels began to roll.
Mrs. Sweet was actually forced to do something that she had never done before--personally help somebody in trouble. Perhaps the experience would do her good, Laura thought.
In tears the latter returned to the corner. The fire was brightly blazing underneath her swinging pot. There was already quite a collection of coins and a few bills in the bottom of the receptacle. But although Laura stuck to the post of duty, her heart was no longer in the ceremonies of Ember Night. She wished heartily that she had never suggested the entertainment, even if it did benefit the Red Cross.