CHAPTER III.

“Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter, ere long, back on itself recoils.”

MILTON’S PARADISE LOST.

“Tis easier for the generous to forgive,
Than for offence to ask it.”

THOMSON’S EDMUND AND ELEONORA.

The last day of the old year had come; the afternoon was bright and warm for the season, and the little folks at Roselands were unanimously in favor of a long walk.  They set out soon after dinner, all in high good humor except Arthur, who was moody and silent, occasionally casting an angry glance at Elsie, whom he had not yet forgiven for her refusal to lend him money; but no one seemed to notice it, and for some time nothing occurred to mar their enjoyment.

At length, some of the older ones, seeing that the sun was getting low, called to the others that it was time to return, and all turned their faces homeward, walking more soberly and silently along than at first, for they were beginning to feel somewhat fatigued.

They were climbing a steep hill.  Elsie and Caroline Howard reached the top first, Arthur and Harry Carrington being but a few steps behind.

Elsie stooped to pick up a pebble, and Arthur, darting quickly past her, managed to give her a push that sent her rolling down the bank.  She gave one frightened cry as she fell, and the next instant was lying pale and motionless at the bottom.

All was now terror and confusion among the children; the little ones, who all loved Elsie dearly, began to scream and cry.  Harry, Lucy, Carry, and Mary, rushed down the path again as fast as they could, and were soon standing pale and breathless beside the still form of their little companion.  Carry was the only one who seemed to have any presence of mind.  She sat down on the ground, and lifting Elsie’s head, laid it on her lap, untied her bonnet-strings, and loosened her dress.

“Jim,” she said to the black boy, who stood blubbering by her side, “run quickly for the doctor.  And you, Harry Carrington, go for her father, as fast as you can.  Lucy, crying so won’t do any good.  Haven’t some of you a smelling-bottle about you?”

“Yes, yes, here, here! quick! quick!  Oh, Carry, say she isn’t dead!” cried Mary Leslie, diving into her pocket and bringing out a small bottle of smelling salts that some one had presented her as a Christmas gift.

“No, she is not dead, Mary; see, she is beginning to open her eyes,” replied Carry, now bursting into tears herself.

But Elsie opened them only for an instant, moaned as if in great pain, and relapsed again into insensibility, so like death that Carry shuddered and trembled with fear.

They were not more than a quarter of a mile from the house, but it seemed almost an age to the anxious Carry before Mr. Dinsmore came; although it was in reality but a few moments, as Harry ran very fast, and Mr. Dinsmore sprang into the carriage—­which was at the door, some of the party having just returned from a drive—­the instant he heard the news, calling to Harry to accompany him, and bidding the coachman drive directly to the spot, with all speed.