She was crying and wriggling, and in another minute or so she might
have fallen to the ground. There was a slight chance that she would
have struck on the fountain.
Joy was up the ladder and had the child in her arms in a moment. She
held her till John, reaching up from below, relieved her of the
burden, and set Angela on the grass, where she continued to cry.
"Such a lot of crying about just a little hole in your frock!"
remarked Philip to Angela. "I should think you'd be ashamed!"
At which Angela stopped crying.
"_Big_ hole!" she said defensively, with a gulped-down sob, and
began smoothing it down, where she sat on the grass.
"Angela, Angela! Oh, Angela, is my baby hurt?" cried Phyllis, flying
in from the garden path outside. She had heard the child cry, from
where she and Allan were in the living-room, and with a mother's
instinct had fled out and down to where the child was. Allan was
hurrying behind her, but before he could catch her she had caught
her foot on the root that stood out of the ground in a loop, and
fallen headlong, striking her head on the edge of the marble basin.
She lay, white and still, where she had fallen. Allan was at her
side in a moment, begging her to speak to him.
"Is she dead, John?" he demanded passionately of John, kneeling
beside her. "Good God, man, can't you speak--is she dead?"
"She's stunned," John answered. "I think that's all."
"Her heart is beating," said her husband, with his hand on it.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230