On reaching the house Fred went off to change his own soaking garments, and Mittie was promptly put to bed, with a hot bottle at her feet and a hot drink to counteract the effects of the chill.
She submitted with unwonted meekness; but her one cry was for her sister.
"I want Joan! Oh, do fetch Joan!" she entreated. "My face hurts so awfully; and I feel so bad all over. I know I'm going to die! Oh, please send for Joan!"
"I don't think there is the smallest probability of that, my dear," Mrs. Ferris said, with rather dry composure, as she sat by the bed. "If Fred had not been at hand you would have been in danger, certainly. But, as things are, it is simply a matter of keeping you warm for a few hours. Your face will be painful, I am afraid, for some days; but happily it is only a bad bruise."
"I thought I could manage the jump so nicely," sighed Mittie.
"It was a pity you tried. Now, Mittie, I am going to ask you a question, and I want a clear answer. Will you tell me frankly—did Joan wish to stay at home to-day, and to send you in her stead?"
Mittie was so subdued that she had no spirit for a fight. "No," came in a whisper. "I—she—she wanted awfully to come. And I—wouldn't stay at home. And Grannie didn't like to spare us both."
"Ah, I see!" Mrs. Ferris laid a kind hand on Mittie. "I am glad you have told me; and you are sorry now, of course. That will make all the difference. Now I am going to send Fred to tell your sister what has happened, and to say that you will be here till to-morrow."
"Couldn't he bring Joan? I do want her so!"
"I'm not sure that that will be possible."