“Fuzz,” shouted Leigh, tugging at the left rein. “Fuzz, wo-a then, wo-a.”
“Stop, stop,” screamed Emma.
But it was no use; in another instant Emma, already panting with running and laughing, found herself flung off as it were, and Leigh, a moment after, lay sprawling at full length on the road, the reins torn out of his grasp, while Fuzzy in the greatest delight rushed on, on—the perambulator after him, swaying from side to side; and, oh dear, dear—sweet baby Dolly inside!
Mary and Artie were some little way behind, but when they came up, this was what they saw: Emma sitting on the road crying and rubbing her arm, Leigh tearing along as fast as he could go, and a small dark thing far in front of him, bumping up and down among the cart-ruts, and swinging from side to side, as if every moment it would tumble over, or else be broken to pieces.
Mary stood still and screamed. Artie ran on at once, shouting at the top of his voice, though I do not quite know what good he thought that would do. And then Mary ran after him and left off screaming, which was sensible. Indeed, I think both of them showed more sense than silly Emma, though she was grown up and they were little children. For what could be less use than to sit on the ground crying and rubbing her bruised arm?
But somebody else—somebody none of them was thinking of at all—showed the most sense of any one.
The Perry children were coming along a field-path at one side of the road—it was dry weather, and the path was pretty hard and smooth, so Comfort and the old wicker perambulator got on pretty well with Janie and the baby beside them of course—when the sound of Leigh’s shouts came across the hedge. Janie had quick ears and still quicker wits.
“Someat’s wrong,” she cried, and she plumped the baby into her sister’s arms. “Now hold he,” she added, and for once Comfort had to leave off reading—indeed the flop of the baby made her book drop to the ground—and get it into her head that the care of her three baby brothers was her business for the present, while Janie flew to the gate, which she scrambled over or crept under, I am not sure which, in less time than it takes to tell it, and found herself in the middle of the road.
Leigh was some little way off still; but nearer than he, and coming nearer every instant, was something else which made even Janie’s stout little heart rise up to her mouth, as she afterwards said. It was the perambulator from the Hall, the beautiful new perambulator, banging and dashing along, dragged by something that looked just then very like a little wild beast instead of a well-disposed tame doggie. And yet it was only looks, for Fuzzy was in the best of spirits, quite pleased with himself, and thinking that Leigh’s shouts only meant he was to go faster and faster.