“Oh, ye—­ye—­yes,” sobbed the girl.  “My nose is broken.  Oh, what shall I do?  What shall I do?”

“Wait!” Harriet tied the end of the rope to the back of Buster’s belt.  “We will let them pull you up.  I think Mr. Grubb will know where to find water up there.”

“I don’t want to go up,” protested Margery.

Jane was now mopping the blood from Margery’s swollen face.

“Ithn’t it too bad that Buthter ith tho awkward,” said Tommy in a sympathetic tone.  “I don’t think thhe will ever reach the top of the mountain.”

“Take her away!  Take her away!” screamed Margery.

“Yes.  Be off with you,” ordered Jane.  “You have about as much sympathy as these rocks.”

“Is Margery seriously hurt?” called the guardian.

“Yeth.  Thhe thkinned her nothe,” Tommy informed her.  “I gueth thhe will be all right, after thhe hath grown thome new thkin.”

“Pull up, please,” called Harriet.  “Margery, lean forward this time and keep your hands at your sides.  That is the way.  Mr. Grubb will have you up there in no time.  Tommy, I am ashamed of you for making fun of Margery when you knew she was suffering.”

“I wathn’t.  I’m thorry that Buthter thuffered.  I know what it ith to thuffer.  Lotth of painful thingth have happened to me.”

“Indeed they have, and we’ve all heard about them, too,” said Jane sarcastically.

“See how nicely Margery is going up.  That is the way we shall send you up, Jane dear,” said Harriet, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“You will not!” retorted Crazy Jane indignantly.  “I’ll stay down first, and you know I will.  But you’re only joking and you know it.”

“Hath Buthter broken her nothe?” questioned Tommy.

“I think not,” replied Miss Elting.  “Come, get started, Tommy.  Mr. Grubb will assist you.  I shall have to look after Margery’s bruised face.”

“I don’t need any athithtanthe.  I gueth I know how to get up there by mythelf.  Bethideth, I don’t want to thkin my nothe.”

“Wait!” commanded Jane threateningly.

“No, I’m going.  Look out!  I’m coming.  Get Buthter out of the way, pleathe.”

“She doesn’t know whether she is going or coming,” was Margery’s withering comment.

“Oh, thith ith eathy,” declared Tommy.  “All you have to do ith to take hold of the rope with both handth, lean back ath if you were looking at a bird flying over your head and—­Thave me! oh, thave me!”

Had not Tommy quickly raised her head she might have sustained a fractured skull.  Her feet left the rock and beat a positive tattoo in the air.  A moment more and she had managed to entangle them in the rope and, powerless to help herself, shrieked and struggled frantically.

“Thave me, thave me!  I can’t move!” she screamed.

“You can use your voice, so don’t worry,” jeered Margery, who had forgotten her own misfortune sufficiently to laugh heartily at Tommy’s predicament—­in fact, they were all laughing.  It was not often that anyone got the better of Tommy, and now that she had come to grief, the entire party, not excepting Miss Elting, could not resist teasing her a little.