He cried and sobbed, and, being now very frightened, he cried the more when he saw that there was blood on his little white nightgown, and that the blood came from one of his little cold feet, which had been cut by a piece of the broken glass. Baby was much more frightened by the sight of blood than by anything else—when he climbed up on the nursery chest of drawers, and Denny told him he'd be killed if he fell down, he didn't mind a bit, but when Lisa said that he might hurt his face if he fell, and make it bleed, he came down at once—and now the sight of the blood was too much.
"Oh, him's hurt hisself, him's all bleeding!" he cried. "Oh, what shall him do?"
He dared not move, for he was afraid of lifting the cut foot—he really did not know what to do—when he heard steps coming along the passage, pattering steps something like his own, and before he had time to think who it could be, a second little white-night-gowned figure trotted into the room.
"Baby, poor Baby, what's the matter?" and, looking up, Baby saw it was Fritz.
"Him's hurt hisself, him's tumbled, and the tiny t'unk is brokened, and somesing else is brokened. Him didn't mean," he sobbed; and Fritz sat down on the floor beside him, having the good sense to keep out of the way of the broken glass, and lifted the little bleeding foot gently.
"Must have some sticking-plaster," said Fritz. "There's some in mother's pocket-book in her room. We must go to mother, Baby."
"But him can't walk," said Baby piteously. "Him's foot bleedens dedful when him moves it."
"Then I must carry you," said Fritz, importantly.
With some difficulty he got Baby on to his back and set off with him. Baby had often ridden on Fritz's back before, in the nursery, for fun, and it seemed very nice and easy. But now, though he had only his nightgown on, Fritz was surprised to find how heavy he seemed after going a little way. He was obliged to rest after he had gone up a few steps, and Baby began to cry worse than before when he saw how tired poor Fritz was. I really don't know how they ever got to the door of mother's room, and, when their knocking brought her out, it was rather a frightening sight for her—Baby perched on Fritz's back, both little boys looking white and miserable, and the wounded foot covered with blood.
But mother knew better than to ask what was the matter till she had done something to put things to rights again.