“I’ll call mama,” cried Margie Hunter.
“No, you won’t. We must keep it from the police!” ordered her brother.
A shudder went through Isabelle.
“But if he’s dead?” protested Teddy Horton.
“Let’s pour some water on him,” suggested somebody.
They all ran to get it, all except Herbert and Isabelle. He noted the anguish of her set face.
“Never mind, Isabelle; maybe he’s only a little bit dead,” he comforted her.
“Will we have to bury him?” she asked, through chattering teeth.
“I suppose so—sometime.”