CHAPTER VI. GRACE.

“DON’T cry,” Phronsie was saying; “because if you do, I cannot help you.”
“She has told everything—just every single thing, Charley,” announced Bella, tragically¹ turning
around to him.
Charley Swan stood like a statue, with no eyes for any one but Phronsie. She turned a grave face
on him. “I’m afraid she’s badly hurt,” she said. “I think you will have to get Dr. Phillips, Mrs.
Higby.”
“It’s only my foot,” said Grace with a little moan.
“Let me go for him,” begged Charley, coming out of his frozen state.
“One of the men’ll go,” said Mrs. Higby. “La! don’t you stir a mite².” She went to the door, gave
the message, and came back with a sigh of relief. “You poor child, you,” bending over Grace’s
foot. “You must have turned it clean over itself. There, there, the cold water’ll be the best we can
do for it till the doctor gets here. My!” as her glance fell again on the dark circles under the blue
eyes, and the elaborate frizzes; then she fell to coughing, and speedily betook herself to the farther
end of the room.
“I’ll hold her,” she said presently, coming back. “Miss Phronsie, you’re wanted every single
minute in the best room. Let me sit there where you be.”
Bella sprang to her feet, and blushed rose red. “I forgot you’d left the reception. Oh, do excuse
me! And please, Miss Phronsie Pepper, don’t stay here any longer.”
“I shall stay,” said Phronsie, “till I see that she is better.”
“Where’s Phronsie? Mrs. Higby, do you know where Miss Phronsie is?” cried old Mr. King,
putting his head in the doorway³. “Oh, my good gracious!” as his eye caught the group.
Grace hopped⁴ off the lounge, and hobbled along on one foot. “Oh, sir! it’s my fault,” she panted;
then she fell flat on the floor.
When she came to herself, she was lying on a bed whose white hangings she could dimly see as
she opened her eyes. Her foot felt heavy and queer.
“I’m sure I cannot apologize enough to you, Mrs. King,” said a voice that she was quite familiar

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