Chapter Third.
"Lessons so dear, so fraught with holy truth
As those her mother's faith shed on her youth."
"Now," said Mildred, taking up her sewing again, "I must work fast to make up for lost time, for I've set my heart on finishing this dress of Ada's to-day."
The words had scarcely left her lips when there came a loud crash and scream from the hall, followed by a sound of tumbling and rolling.
Up sprang mother, aunt and sister, scattering scissors, thimbles and work, and rushed toward the scene of commotion.
They found the stairs, and Fan, who sat weeping half way up, drenched with water; while at the foot were scattered fragments of a large pitcher, Cyril lying among them half stunned and with the blood streaming from a cut in his head; Don gazing down upon him from the landing and adding his mite to the confusion by screaming, "Oh! oh! oh! he's deaded! he's deaded!"
"No, he ain't," said Cyril, slowly getting on his feet. "Mother, I didn't mean to. Please don't let Milly scold us young ones. Oh, stop this quick!" putting his hand to his head.
"Yes, sonny, as soon as possible," said Mrs. Keith, taking his head in her hands and holding the lips of the wound together. "A basin of cold water, Milly, quick! and aunt, there is sticking plaster in the work-table drawer. Hush Don; don't cry any more, Fan; Cyril isn't much hurt and mother will soon make it all right."