But Dorothy had quietly planned his Christmas. She had saved a little tree from the decorating greens, and had already gathered and bought enough trinkets to trim it.
"If only Ned is not badly hurt," she prayed as the night grew very late. "I do wish they would come."
The sound of automobile wheels on the path answered her wish. The next moment she was at the door.
"Open both doors," Mrs. White said to Major Dale, who stood beside Dorothy. "He cannot walk, and must not be jarred."
Mrs. White's voice betrayed excitement and anxiety. Dorothy was too anxious to speak—she dreaded to know the actual trouble.
Tom and Dr. Whitethorn carried the injured boy into the library.
"How's that?" asked the doctor as Ned fell back amid the cushions of a couch.
"All—right," replied the latter with evident effort.
"Now just keep quiet, and don't attempt to move unaided," said the doctor, "and we'll see how it is in the morning. I think, Mrs. White, you might make him comfortable to-night on this floor. It will be safer."
Ned was very pale. Dorothy could not bear to see his white face with the deep dark rings under his eyes. Tom did what he could, and then was ready to leave.