82 MADGE’S MISTAKE,

path along which we have been walking, and
beckoning energetically, cries, “Oh, Madge,
where have you been all this time? First
your mother wanted you, and now your
father is waiting to say good-bye to you
and Jack. Pray, make haste; he will be so
angry if you keep him standing there.”

We need no second bidding, and rush off
helter-skelter, nearly tripping each other up
in our haste and anxiety. Father is stand-
ing on the steps looking from right to left
impatiently. The cloud is just clearing from
his face as he sees us, when an unkind
scraper takes hold of and detains a small
piece of braid on my dress, which I have
been desired to sew on times out of number:
on I go, however, unconscious of the fact
until I feel a sharp pull, lose my footing,
and fall with great violence against Father’s
legs,

It is Jack who helps me up and presents
me rather a soiled handkerchief, which I
-press to my poor bleeding chin; but Father
does say as he goes slowly down the steps: