“Well, if dar ain't anudder one,” she cried.
“Never mind, Mandy,” said Douglas, who was just behind her, carrying a small water pitcher, and searching for a bottle of brandy which had been placed in the medicine chest for emergencies.
“You can take these upstairs,” he told her, when he had filled the pitcher with water and found the liquor. Mandy looked threateningly at Toby, then reluctantly went on her way.
Douglas turned to the old man pleasantly. His was the first greeting that Toby had received, and he at last found voice to ask whether Polly was badly hurt.
“The doctor hasn't told us yet,” said Douglas, kindly.
“I'm her Uncle Toby—not her REAL uncle,” the old man explained, “but that's what she calls me. I couldn't come out right away, because I'm on in the concert. Could I see her now, please?”
“Here's the doctor,” said Douglas, as Hartley came down the stairs, followed by Jim. “Well, doctor, not bad, I hope?”
“Yes, rather bad,” said the doctor, adding quickly, as he saw the suffering in Toby's face, “but don't be alarmed. She's going to get well.”
“How long will it be before we can have her back—before she can ride again?” asked Jim gruffly, as he stood apart, twisting his brown, worn hat in his hands.
“Probably several months,” said the doctor. “No bones are broken, but the ligaments of one ankle are torn, and she received a bad blow on the head. It will be some time before she recovers consciousness.” “What are we goin' to do, Jim?” asked Toby, helplessly.