Calhoun at the foot of the stairs, was picking Molly up.
"Is she hurt? Is she killed?" asked the mother, "Molly, Molly, how did you come to be so awkward?"
"I wasn't! it was those heels; I knew they'd throw me down some day!" cried the child in tones of mingled anger, fright and pain.
"H'm! you're not killed; haven't even had the temper knocked out of you," remarked Enna, going back to her dressing.
"Poor child, you must be hurt," said Calhoun, laying her gently on a sofa, "but no bones broken, I hope?"
"I—I don't know," sobbed Molly, "it's my back. Oh, dear! oh, dear!"
"Oh, Molly, are you much hurt? shall I go for the doctor?" asked Dick, coming to her side pale with fright. "Mac's right here at the door, ready saddled and bridled, and——"
"Go for the doctor?" interrupted Molly. "No, indeed! It's very good in you, Dick, but I don't want him; I am going to Ion with the rest of you. I'm ready now."
"You don't look much like it; you're as pale as a ghost," he said, Calhoun adding, "You'd better lie still for a while, Molly; Dick or I will take you over this evening, if you find yourself able to go then."
"Thank you, but I'm going now," she answered with decision, getting up and taking Dick's arm.