"
The two girls hurried off, leaving Mollie and Betty to loosen the woman's
collar and rub her cold hands.
"Betty, Betty, is she dead?" Mollie was crying for perhaps the hundredth
time, when the woman herself answered the question by opening her eyes and
looking vacantly about her.
"Who--are--you?" she queried faintly, struggling to rise.
"Oh, please don't try to get up just yet," Betty pleaded, looking very
sweet and charming in her solicitude. "I don't think you're strong
enough--"
But the woman seemed of a different mind, and made such a desperate effort
to raise herself that Betty had no alternative but to help her to her
feet.
The girls supported the unsteady little figure while the dim old eyes
roved questioningly about.
"I--got--hurt!" she gasped, and then quite suddenly fainted again.
"Oh, Betty!" moaned Mollie, her face white with pity. "She's hurt worse,
much worse, than we thought she was! Oh, what shall we do?"
"There's only one thing to do," replied Betty, trying to hide the tremor
in her voice. "We'll have to get her to the hospital, and in a hurry."
"But Grace and Amy!" gasped Mollie. "We can't go without them."
"We can at least get her into the car," Betty said, indicating the limp
little figure in the roadway. "You take her feet, Mollie, and I'll take
her head. We haven't spent all our lives outdoors for nothing."
Between them they succeeded in carrying their burden to the car and
settled her gently in the tonneau.
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