“Florence’s cut herself,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s a bad cut. I don’t dare let go of it.”
Winona flung herself down by Florence and put her hands above Lucy’s shaking little ones, which then, and not till then, let go.
“Get me a stick, Lucy, quick—a strong one!” she said.
Lucy was back with the stick before Winona was through speaking. Winona pulled off her tie, that useful silk scarf of hers which had helped Edith out of the water, and bound it above Florence’s cut, twisting it tight with the stick. Then she asked Adelaide to tie Florence’s wrist again, below the cut. She did not want to take any chances, and she did not know yet whether it was a vein or an artery that Florence had hurt.
Then she sent Lucy flying for Mrs. Bryan, while she and Adelaide made Florence keep still.
“That Lucy child keeps her head,” said Adelaide approvingly.
“It wasn’t her wrist that got cut!” said Florence indignantly, stopping her sobs.
“How did it happen, Florence?” asked her sister. “Tell us—but don’t stir. Nobody knows what will happen if your wrist starts bleeding again.”
“Well, we were being Indian chiefs,” began Florence, “an’—an’ I was out on the warpath, going to scalp Molly Green. And I ran, and Molly ran, an’ I fell over a tree-root and the knife cut my wrist.”
“The knife!” said Winona, for nobody had mentioned a knife before. “Where did you get a knife?”