—"is the matter?" cried Polly, finishing her sentence.
A pair of strong arms were lifting her up, and pulling her from beneath something, she could not tell what, that was lying heavily over her, while Johnny rolled off like a ball.
"O, Ben!" cried Polly gratefully, as the arms carried her off. And then she saw the face above her: "Why, Pickering!"
"Are you hurt anywhere?" gasped Pickering, speaking the words with difficulty.
"What is it?" cried Polly, in a dazed way.
"There's been an accident," said Pickering. "Oh, Polly, say you're not hurt!" as he set her carefully down.
"An accident!" exclaimed Polly, and she sprang to her feet and glanced wildly around. "Pickering—where—where"—she couldn't ask "are Phronsie and Ben and Grandpapa?"
But Pickering cried at once, "All right—every single one. Here comes
Phronsie, and Ben too."
And Phronsie running up, with streaming hair and white cheeks, threw glad arms around her neck. "Oh, Polly, are you hurt?" And Ben seized her, but at that she winced; and her left arm fell heavily to her side.
"Where's Baby?" cried Polly, trying to cover up the expression of pain; "do somebody look after him."