[“Oh! I am so hungry, Polly.”]
“Well, when she went along,” said Polly, hurrying over this part of it, as she thought she saw Phronsie’s head droop a bit, “she took the big bread-knife out of the cupboard; she thought, you know, it would help me; and the first thing anybody knew, down she rolled over those dreadful old rickety steps!”
Every one in the group sat perfectly still, as if not daring to breathe; and little Dick threw his arms around Phronsie, while his mouth worked dreadfully as he tried not to cry.
“And I cut my thumb,” said Phronsie, holding it up.
“Yes,” said Polly, hurrying on; “it was only her thumb she cut, but how it did scare me! I don’t know how I ever got down over those stairs; and there she was in a little heap at the bottom, and that dreadful old bread-knife lying down on the floor a little way off. Oh, dear me! I can’t bear to think of it even now; and there were little dabs of blood on her pink apron, and all over her face. But she said it was only her thumb.”
“Yes,” said Phronsie gravely; “it was only my thumb.”
“And so it was surely, as I soon found out,” said Polly, drawing a long breath. “Well, we soon got Phronsie up-stairs, all right.”
“Yes,” said Joel; “and the first thing Polly did, she said to the old stove, ‘Oh! you old naughty thing, now think what you’ve done this morning’—that’s what she told us.”
“And then I had to get some court-plaster to stick the cut together with,” said Polly; “so Phronsie sat in Mamsie’s old rocking-chair, while I ran over to Grandma Bascom’s for it; for you know, of course, that if any of us got into any trouble, why, the first thing we did was to get into Mamsie’s chair, if she wasn’t home.”