James’ strong arm was firm and steady; he held her close. Polly breathlessly watched him as, inch by inch, he descended the bank to the bottom of the gorge and then carefully picked his way along to the far point where a flight of wooden steps, securely fastened to the rock, led up the terrace beyond.
Then, for the first time the thought flashed into Polly’s mind, “What would Priscilla’s mother say?”
She slid down to the floor, forgetful of dolls, play-toys and everything else, and ran blindly back to the house. Her flying feet brought her to the entrance before James, with his little burden, had fairly reached the terrace.
“Hannah! Oh, Hannah!” she called out, as soon as she had crossed the door-sill and was actually within the hall.
Hannah hurried to her from the living-room, alarmed by her terror-stricken voice.
“What on earth is it, child? For pity’s sake what’s happened now?”
“Oh, Hannah!” Polly panted, “Priscilla! It’s Priscilla! She—she—— We were in Pine Lodge and she fell over into the ravine and James has got her—he’s bringing her in now, I guess. Oh, Hannah! Hannah—— She was alive! But her eyes shut when the root broke and now I’m afraid she’s——”
“Hush, Polly!” commanded Hannah sternly. “Stop your crying. Mrs. Duer mustn’t hear you. She mustn’t know—yet. You say James has got her? Oh, here he is! Give her to me, James! Quick, quick, man! How slow you are!”
“Go easy, Hannah!” the young man said. “She’s all right. Don’t get upset! She’s got a few bruises, no doubt, and her hands are torn a bit, but she’ll pull through all right when she comes out of this faint and has time to get over the shock and the fright of it.”
But Hannah hardly heard him. She gathered her darling into her arms with a sort of savage eagerness, and, puffing and panting with the exertion and the heat, carried her up-stairs into her mother’s room and closed the door. Polly dared not follow.