A Colony of Girls Part 18

"What do you mean? O Willie, where is Gladys?"

Farr put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Come, little man," he said kindly, "don't cry, but take a long breath. There, that's a brave little chap. Now tell your sister where Gladys is, and what has happened."

"We were playing birds in a tree, and Gladys fell, and she can't get up," faltered Willie.

"Where?" Jean asked sharply.

"In the orchard."

Almost before the words had pa.s.sed his lips, Jean pushed by him and was flying toward the orchard. Farr stopped a moment, to tell Willie to run up to the house and have them send down a couple of pillows to the orchard and to dispatch a man on horseback for the doctor; then he started in pursuit of Jean. He quickly overtook her, and they sped across the intervening s.p.a.ce in silence. As they entered the orchard Larry's heartbreaking sobs indicated the scene of the accident, and in another instant Jean had fallen on her knees beside her little sister.

The child's face was drawn, and the wide, distended eyes were strangely, unnaturally bright.

"Gladys, precious, where does it hurt you?" But a moan was her only answer.

"Oh, Mr. Farr, what can I do? How do you suppose she is hurt?"

Farr bent tenderly over little Gladys, and laid his hand lightly on her arm. A wail of pain escaped from the child's white lips, and she again lost consciousness.

Everything grew black to Jean and she swayed a little, leaning against the trunk of the tree for support. Farr's voice sounded very indistinct and strange to her.

"Come, Miss Jean, you must not faint. Do you hear me? Now, take a mouthful of this," holding out his flask to her.

Jean obeyed him unresistingly, and rallied at once, the color coming back into her face.

"Gladys has broken her arm," he went on, in a quiet, even voice that somehow helped to steady her. "There, that is right. Now you look like yourself again."

"Never mind me," she returned resolutely, straightening herself. "Is there nothing we can do for Gladys?"

"I sent Willie to the house to tell nurse to come here with pillows and to send Barnes for the doctor. Now give me the flask and put your arm under her head and raise it a trifle, so that I can give her some brandy. There, she is coming to now."

The white lids fluttered, and Gladys' eyes opened slowly.

"Jeanie, I twied to f'y, but I was too little," she murmured weakly, and she smiled up at her sister, who was bending over her with so much tenderness.

The sound of footsteps reached them, and nurse, a comfortable, motherly-looking woman, bustled up to them, her arms laden with pillows and restoratives.

Her presence brought great rea.s.surance to Jean.

"Oh, nurse, I am so glad you are here. Gladys has been hurt."

"My poor baby, Nana will make it all well. She shouldn't have left you at all. Whatever will Miss Helen say!"

Jean's face contracted sharply, and she turned away to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. Farr threw an angry glance at nurse, who, all unconscious of her offense, was petting and comforting Gladys.

"This is no time for talking," he said. "We must get Gladys home as quickly as possible. Miss Jean, will you help me lift her?"

Jean recognized the kindly intent in his words, and her eyes were eloquent with grat.i.tude.

"Little one," he went on to Gladys, "will you be a good, brave little girl and let me carry you? I will put you on this pillow, and I will be as gentle as possible. I can't promise that it won't hurt you some, but when you are once home you will be so comfortable."

"All right," a.s.sented Gladys, looking up at him with touching confidence.

But in spite of all their care, it was a very painful ordeal, and the poor child was quite spent before the manor was reached. As they mounted the steps of the veranda the doctor's gig drove up to the door. They carried Gladys up to the nursery, and Farr lingered there long enough to hear his opinion confirmed that the child had sustained no further injury than the breaking of her arm.

"I will wait downstairs," he said in an undertone to Jean, and he went out and closed the door softly behind him.

The moments dragged slowly, and he had almost renounced all hope of seeing Jean again, when he heard her footfall on the stair. She came down toward him, her white face showing the traces of tears. He sprang forward to meet her.

"I can't stay but a moment," she said to him, "for I must go right back to Gladys. The doctor has set her arm and has given her something to make her sleep and he is going very soon now."

He laid his hand on her shoulder and looked tenderly down at her.

"You look worn out. Won't you try and rest a little?"

She did not resent his action, but she moved a step away from him and his hand dropped at his side. Her lips quivered.

"I don't care about myself. I shall never, never forgive myself for my wicked thoughtlessness. That poor baby's suffering haunts me."

"I won't have you blame yourself," he declared vehemently. "I was more at fault than you, for I claimed your attention with my stupid story."

"Don't talk nonsense," she returned gently, but, nevertheless, her face lost much of its misery.

They were silent for a moment. The past hour had broken down the last barrier of reserve between them and had drawn them very close to each other. Of the two, Farr was perhaps the more conscious of the subtle change that had been wrought, and he was filled with unspeakable joy.

"You must go now," Jean told him, "but you will come back to-morrow, won't you?" She was so sure of his answer that she did not wait for him to speak. "I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for Gladys--and me," she added very low.

"If I have been the least help to you, Jean, it is more----" he began, when the outer door was pushed open, and Nathalie rushed in like a whirlwind.

"What in the world has happened," she cried excitedly. "Larry says that Gladys is hurt, but he is too frightened to be clear about it."

Jean hastened to give her an account of the accident, shrinking back a little from the light that streamed in from the open doorway, for fear of what her telltale face might reveal to Nathalie's keen eyes. Farr bade them good-by and went away, and then the two girls went directly to the nursery.

CHAPTER X

MISS STUART'S ARRIVAL.

On this selfsame day, after a two hours' trip on the cars, Helen found herself at length at her destination. It was somewhat after three when she stood ringing the front-door bell of a substantial brown-stone house in a quiet side street. The city seemed hot indeed after the dewy freshness of the country, and the sun's rays beat relentlessly upon the stone flagging and cobblestones. The rumblings of carriages and wagons rolling by, the tinkling of the far off car-bells, the constant roar of the great city fell strangely upon the girl's ears so unaccustomed to the ceaseless din. Just then a street vender pa.s.sed by, his shrill voice crying now and again, "Peaches! peaches! ten cents a quart!" Helen watched him pityingly until her attention was attracted by a hand-organ grinding away, "White wings, they never grow weary." Two poor little urchins sat on a neighboring doorstep pitching pennies, their small pale faces making her heart ache as she wondered what a glimpse of green fields and winding lanes would be to them. A feeling of sadness a.s.sailed her, as these sights and sounds, so familiar to city life, awakened within her a realization that outside of her sheltered life lay so many full of sorrow and suffering. Her reverie was cut short by the appearance of the maid, who immediately ushered her into the darkened drawing-room. Between the closed shutters crept a few rays of straggling sunlight which fell upon the furniture in its muslin slips, the bronzes and gas jets in their wrappings of tarlatan.

Helen had hardly found a seat, when someone hastily descended the stairs, and pus.h.i.+ng open the door, made a rush across the room and threw her arms about her.

"You dear girl," Miss Stuart cried, "how glad I am to see you, and how good of you to come. You cannot imagine how overjoyed I was when I received your telegram."