But here she was quivering from head to foot with the sudden discovery that in the living picture before her, the prostrate child and those two kneeling figures upon the playground grass, there was something nobler than pen or paint-brush could depict, the highest form of self-expression.
And her heart surging up within her vaguely named that picture, “Succor.”
Succor was in the healing warmth of the sunlight that, now again, made its brightness felt.
Succor seemed waving its wings among the branches of the near-by willow-tree that brooded over the scene—not one helpless wing, but two: the Will to help and the trained Ability to do it.
Three hours later two girls sat one on each side of a cot in the children’s ward of a city hospital. Things had happened in the meantime. A doctor had arrived in an automobile and after some gentle soundings and poundings of ’Becca’s anatomy to locate the undigested fruit that swamped her, had carried her off to the hospital, declaring that her after treatment was important.
The after treatment she was receiving now was in the shape of a big waxen queen doll from Olive, a creature that could mechanically call upon its royal parents by the titles of “Papa” and “Mamma,” as its little human owner couldn’t.
“It seemed too bad that she shouldn’t have some present, seeing that we couldn’t dress her up to-day—or for many days to come,” remarked Olive Deering, looking across at Jessica who was holding the dumb child’s stubby little fingers. “I wish we knew the name of the Boy Scout who helped you to save her!”
“’Twas I who helped him; he worked over her until he brought her to. He was an Eagle Scout, too, the highest rank among the Scouts.”
“Think of it!”