“What is it?” she stammered.
Molly knelt down beside her.
“Probably very little,” she said hastily. “Don’t get excited—please—but—but––”
“It’s Theodore!” gasped the mother, intuitively.
“He’s hurt a little, just a little, and they’ve taken him to the hospital.”
Mrs. King tried to rise, but dropped back weakly.
“He’s badly hurt or he’d come home.”
“I’ll find out,” offered Molly eagerly. Then as an afterthought, “I’ll go if you’ll promise me to stay very quiet until I get back.”
“I promise,” said Mrs. King, sobbing, “but go quickly! I simply can’t be still when I’m uncertain.”
In another house of lesser proportions, a girl was huddled in a chair, gazing at Lafe Grandoken.