“Up in her room.  Doctor Churchill’s there.  He’s sent for Doctor Forester.”

“Churchill—­Forester,” repeated Lanse, as if dazed.  “Poor old girl—­is she much hurt?”

“She’s broken her knee, I tell you,” Charlotte repeated.  “Of course she’s much hurt.  She’s suffering dreadfully.  She hit her head, too.  She was unconscious at first.  I was all alone with her.”

Lanse started for the door, then hesitated.  “Shall I go up?”

“The doctor wants to see you as soon as you are home.  He’s waiting for Doctor Forester.  He’s made Celia as comfortable as he can, but wants our regular doctor here, he says, before he does up her knee.  I don’t see why.  I wanted him to fix it himself.”

“That’s all right,” said Lanse.  “Doctors always do that kind of thing—­the honourable ones do.  It’s better to have Doctor Forester see it, too.  Did you get him?  Will he be here right off?”

“The doctor got him.  He’ll be here soon.”

“Go tell Doctor Churchill I’m here, will you?  Maybe I’d better not see Celia till I’m cleaned up a bit.  She’s not used to me like this.  Poor little girl! poor little girl!” he groaned, as he made his rapid way to the bath-room.  “The cellar stairs—­they’re dark and steep enough, but how could a light-footed girl like Celia get a fall like that?  And father and mother—­how are we going to fix it with them?”

In the midst of his splashing and scrubbing he heard Jeff and Justin come shouting in for supper and Charlotte hushing them and telling them the news.  The next instant Jeff was upon him.

“Say, but this is awful, Lanse!  She was getting up a rattling good dinner, too—­been at it all day.  Her one idea was to please you, your first day at the shops.  Been up to see her?  Charlotte says I’d better not go yet—­nor Just.  Just’s all broken up, poor youngster!  Says Celia told him to go after the pickles, and he forgot it.  If he’d gone she wouldn’t have got her tumble.  What’ll father and mother say?  What are we going to do, anyhow?  Second Fiddle’s no good on earth in the kitchen; she couldn’t boil an egg.  Say, breaking your knee-pan’s no joke.  Price Williston did it a year ago August, and he hasn’t got good use of it yet,—­’fraid he never will——­”

“Oh, let up on that,”—­Lanse cut him short,—­“and don’t mention it again to anybody.  Doctor Forester and Churchill will fix her up all right, only it’s an awful shame it should have happened.  I’m going up to see Doctor Churchill.”

At the foot of the stairs he met that person coming down, shook hands with him eagerly, and listened to a brief and concise account of his sister’s injury.  As it ended, Doctor Forester’s automobile rolled up to the door.

“Did the five and a half miles in precisely twenty minutes,” said Doctor Forester, as he came up the steps, watch in hand; “slow speed within limits and all.  Lanse, my boy, this is too bad.  Doctor Churchill—­very glad to see you again.  Decided to settle out here, eh?  Well, on some accounts I think you’re wise.  Charlotte, little girl, cheer up!  There are worse things than a fractured patella—­I believe that’s what you called the injury, Doctor Churchill.”