Mrs. Kent held Ida fast in her arms, whispering, tenderly, "My poor darling, mamma will take care of her."
She was greatly affected when the child pulled her down and whispered—
"I was naughty, too, mamma. When he pulled my dolly away, I struck him, and called him ugly boy. I'm sorry now, mamma. Won't Jesus love me any more?"
All were so intent on attending to Ida, and so glad to be relieved from Joseph's noise, that for a time he lay on the floor unheeded. But presently grandma said, sharply—
"Look! That boy is in a fit. He's foaming at the mouth."
His father took him up and carried him into the bedroom, where he lay when the doctor drove up to the door.
He looked first at Ida, called it an ugly scratch, thought likely there would be a scar under the eye. The under lid was torn through. For this, he advised cold applications and a darkened room. It would take time, he said, to heal it.
Then he followed Aunt Mary to the bedroom—Mr. Kent carrying his little daughter to his own chamber, where he determined she should stay till they started for home.
When he returned to the sitting-room, all was confusion. Mr. Mason was bringing in a tub for a warm bath, while his wife held Joseph's head, crying as if her heart would break.
"It's just what I always told you," she exclaimed, sobbing. "You've killed him with your heavy blow. Oh, dear! I can't bear it."