The child lay on the bed in her little summer frock, her face very white now after the shock, Nurse had come carrying the youngest child: and little Annabel stood holding her skirt. Winifred, terribly serious and wooden-seeming, was bending over the knee, from which she had taken his blood-soaked handkerchief. Egbert bent forward, too, keeping more sang-froid in his face than in his heart. Winifred went all of a lump of seriousness, so he had to keep some reserve. The child moaned and whimpered.
The knee was still bleeding profusely—it was a deep cut right in the joint.
“ You’d better go for the doctor, Egbert,” said Winifred bitterly.
“ Oh, no! Oh, no!” cried Joyce in a panic.
“ Joyce, my darling, don’t cry!” said Winifred, suddenly catching the little girl to her breast in a stran
