“You must sit straight, child,” said Ben. Oh, would Father Fisher and Mamsie ever come! for the blood, despite all his efforts, was running down the little arm pretty fast.
“Why, Ben?” asked Phronsie, with wide eyes, and wishing that her arm wouldn't ache so, for now quite a smart pain had set in. “Why, Bensie?” and thinking if she could be cuddled, it wouldn't be quite so bad.
“Why, we must hold your arm up stiff,” said Ben, just as Mamsie came up to her baby, and took her in her arms; and then Phronsie didn't care whether the ache was there or not.
“Joe couldn't help it,” said Ben brokenly.
“I believe that,” Mother Fisher said firmly. “Oh Ben, the doctor is away.”
Ben started. “I'll go down to the office; perhaps he's there.”
“No; there's no chance. I've sent for Dr. Pennell. Your father likes him. Now Phronsie”—Mrs. Fisher set her white lips together tightly—“you and I and Ben will see to this arm of yours. Ben, get one of your big handkerchiefs.”
“It doesn't ache so very much, Mamsie,” said Phronsie, “only I would like to lay it down.”
“And that is just what we can't do, Phronsie,” said Mother Fisher decidedly. “All right,” to Ben, “now tear it into strips.”
Old Mr. King was not in the library when Joel had rushed down with his dreadful news, but was in Jasper's den, consulting with him and Polly about the program for the entertainment, as Polly and Jasper, much to the old gentleman's delight, never took a step without going to him for advice. The consequence was that these three did not hear of the accident till a little later, when the two Whitney boys dashed in with pale faces, “Phronsie's hurt,” was their announcement, which wouldn't have been given so abruptly had not each one been so anxious to get ahead of the other.