"Hortense didn't tell me there was a spring lock on this door," she exclaimed, with an impatient pull. "Oh! good heavens." She had nearly stumbled over Phronsie Pepper's little body, lying just where it fell when hope was lost.
"I have had nothing to do with it," repeated Mrs. Chatterton to herself, following Mr. King and Jasper as they bore Phronsie downstairs, her yellow hair floating from the pallid little face. "Goodness! I haven't had such a shock in years. My heart is going quite wildly. The child probably went up there for something else; I am not supposed to know anything about it."
"Is she dead?" cried Dick, summoned with the rest of the household by Mrs. Chatterton's loud screams, and quite beside himself, he clambered up the stairs to get in every one's way.
Mrs. Chatterton, with an aimless thrust of her long jeweled hands, pushed him one side. And Dick boiled over at that.
"What are you here for?" he cried savagely. "You don't love her. You would better get out of the way." And no one thought to reprove him.
Polly was clinging to the post at the foot of the stairs. "I shall die if Phronsie is dead," she said. Then she looked at Mother Fisher, waiting for her baby.
"Give her to me!" said Phronsie's mother, holding out imperative arms.
"You would better let us carry her; well put her in your bed. Only get the doctor." Mr. King was almost harsh as he endeavored to pass her. But before the words were over his lips, the mother held her baby.
"Mamsie," cried Polly, creeping over to her like a hurt little thing, "I don't believe but that she'll be all right. God won't let anything happen to our Phronsie. He couldn't, Mamsie."
Dr. Fisher met them at the door. Polly never forgot the long, slow terror that clutched at her heart as she scanned his face while he took the child out of the arms that now yielded up their burden. And everything turned dark before her eyes—Was Phronsie dead?