This sally proved too much for Gladys, and flinging back her head she burst into a merry peal of laughter. In her sudden movement her little hands lost their hold on the limb, and plunging forward she fell heavily to the ground. One sharp cry and then the child lay still and silent, her little white face upturned.
"Oh!" gasped Willie, "p'r'aps she's broke her wings."
Larry slipped quickly down from the tree, and leaned anxiously over his little sister's prostrate form.
"Get up, Gladys," he pleaded, and then, as the child did not stir, he began to cry piteously.
For an instant Willie stood irresolute, his hands tightly clinched, his ruddy face grown pale with fear.
"I'm going to find Jean," he said, and turned and started on a run toward the shrubbery.
Larry caught hold of him and clung to him in an agony of fear.
"I'm awfully scared, Willie. Please don't leave me."
Willie shook him off impatiently, and pointed a reproachful finger to where Gladys lay in an unnatural stillness, and then, without another word, he was gone.