Part 4 (2/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration]
”Yes, it's one of the other Carews,” Tony said gravely. ”And Father's in the surgery: he drove up five minutes ago. What can be the matter? That boy is tearing at the surgery bell. Listen!”
With their hearts in their mouths the Carews tip-toed along the pa.s.sage leading to the surgery-door, which was shut fast. There seemed to be a dreadful silence in the house. Mother was upstairs with the fretful baby of the family, and there was n.o.body to run to.
Behind the close-shut surgery-door a strange scene was going on. Sitting well back in his consulting-chair, his hands spread out, finger to finger, thumb to thumb, Doctor George was gazing sternly in silence at an eager little speaker.
”Oh, do come; do, Uncle George! Our Clary is killed, and Father's away on his rounds among the hill-farms!”
Oliver's teeth chattered in his head, and his little knees knocked together as he stood with the rain-drops falling from his bare head on to his little shoulders.
”Did your Mother send you here for me?” Doctor George asked harshly.
”No; oh, no! We dared not tell Mother! Clary fell from the top of the Tile House to the hall floor, and she's all white and still. And Euphemia lifted her arm, and it fell double!”
Dr. George suddenly sat up straight.
”Is it broken or is it a sprain?” he asked peremptorily.
”I--I don't know. I think she's killed!” answered the boy brokenly.
Oliver was nearly fainting from sheer fright, as Dr. George could see for himself.
”Come along, boy,” he said sharply, and he gathered together two or three necessaries from the surgery-table while he spoke.
Presently two figures plunged out into the pouring rain.
”Father's gone with the other Carew! What can be the matter? Perhaps Uncle John's killed, and they're going to make it up!” whispered the girls.
”You are sillies!” scornfully said Tony. ”How can people make it up if they're dead?”
Ah, how, Tony? The time for that has gone by, indeed, boy!
Of the two figures that fled through the rain, the doctor reached the Tile House first. In a trice he pushed aside Euphemia and he was kneeling beside the motionless little figure; and, presently, when he had gently probed the little form and lifted one limb after another, he groaned under his breath. This little, tender, fair-headed thing, with the face that reminded him so startlingly of his dead Mother, was sorely injured; perhaps fatally so. As yet, he knew not.
Without a word, he cautiously lifted the unconscious Clary in his strong arms, and signed to Euphemia to lead the way.
Then the door of the room he entered with his burden was shut, and the Carew boys huddled close together, a miserable group. What if they had killed the little, tender sisterling who was their queen and idol?
And Mother upstairs in her sick-room knew nothing as yet, while Father, away on his long hill-round, was equally ignorant. It seemed to make things so much more terrible to the little boys that they alone should know.
”Come away, beside the fire, dearies.” Mary Jane beckoned them into the kitchen, and the wretched boys crept round the ruddy blaze, which seemed, somehow, like a friend, and they stretched out their cold hands to its warmth as they waited, too frightened to wonder aloud what was being done in that room where Euphemia and Uncle George were shut up with Clary.
When Mother's bell rang their hearts jumped into their mouths.
”No! none of you boys are going up!” said Mary Jane firmly. ”Euphemia, she said as 'twas as much as my place was worth if I let the mistress know o' this before the doctor comes home. So I'll carry up her dinner-tray and keep my tongue atween my teeth, and you boys must bide quiet as quiet till we see!”
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