“Here’s cold water, too; Virgie, hurry up with that pitcher, please. Detach what, Hilary?”
“The sprains. You said she always put them in water. Ah—that feels good!”
“What’s the matter? Mercy! Is Hilary hurt?” Lilian from the doorway viewed the scene with troubled face. In her hand she carried what everybody recognized as a telegram.
“Oh, I just thought I would get up a little excitement, Lilian. Things were going too smoothly—Oh, is that our telegram from New York?”
“Yes, Oh poor Hilary!”
That was, indeed the last straw, and Hilary, in pain, knowing that the boys were on their way from the southern camp to New York and that she had a serious hurt, burst into tears. Hilary, the strong, the patient, the self-controlled, in tears! The girls all looked distressed, but Aunt Hilary now came to the fore.
“Come, Hilary, perhaps it isn’t so bad as you think,” said she. “Isabel, will you go down and ask Miss Randolph to send up the nurse and telephone for a physician? Now it is time for your little program, Hilary; which of the girls shall preside in your place?”
“Juliet is vice-president, but one of the juniors will take the chair while we—the other girls, are receiving their diplomas. Be sure that Patty is there, Cathalina. She makes the speech, you know. And see that all the seniors are there, too, before the meeting is called to order. Tell the girls about me, please, and one of you can bring my diploma.”
“I do hate to go, Hilary,” said Lilian, “and leave you like this.”
“You couldn’t do a thing. The nurse will be here in a minute and Aunt Hilary will take care of me. Oh, I’m so glad you are here, Aunt Hilary, but it just spoils your visit!”