"You can't hurt a wooden rocking horse," said Mother, as she went over to see what had happened.
"Oh, yes you can!" sobbed Dick, for he was so little a boy that he was not ashamed to cry. "My Horse's leg is broken! I can never ride him again! Oh, dear!"
Mother looked at the Horse lying on its side at the foot of the steps. If there had been no one there to look on, the Horse might have tried to get up, even with all his pain. But, as it was against the rules to move or say anything as long as human eyes were watching, the poor White Rocking Horse just had to lie there.
"Dear me, one of the legs really is broken," said Mother, as she set the Horse upright. And, being a wooden horse with rockers under him, such as some chairs have, the Horse could stand upright, even though one of his legs was cracked clear through.
"Yes, his leg is broken, and now I can never have a ride on him any more!" sobbed Dick. "Oh, dear!"
"Oh, it isn't as bad as all that," said Mother, with a kind smile as she patted her little boy's head. "I think we can have the broken leg mended. But how did it happen? Did you ride your Horse off the porch, Dick?"
"No, Mother," he answered. "I was playing with Arnold's train, and Carlo ran around the corner, barking, and he ran between my Horse's legs, I guess, and upset him. Oh, isn't it too bad?"
"Yes; but it might be worse," replied Mother. "If your leg had been broken, or Dorothy's or Mirabell's or Arnold's, it could not so easily be mended."
"Can you mend the broken leg of my White Rocking Horse?" asked Dick eagerly.
"I cannot mend it, myself," Mother answered. "But I will have Daddy take your Horse to the hospital."