by, arms and legs going like mad,
with the general appearance of a runaway engine. It would have been a
triumphant descent, if a big dog had not bounced suddenly through one of
the openings, and sent the whole concern helter-skelter into the gutter.
Polly laughed as she ran to view the ruin, for Tom lay flat on his back
with the velocipede atop him, while the big dog barked wildly, and his
master scolded him for his awkwardness. But when she saw Tom's face,
Polly was frightened, for the color had all gone out of it, his eyes
looked strange and dizzy, and drops of blood began to trickle from a
great cut on his forehead. The man saw it, too, and had him up in a
minute; but he could n't stand, and stared about him in a dazed sort of
way, as he sat on the curbstone, while Polly held her handkerchief to
his forehead, and pathetically begged to know if he was killed.

"Don't scare mother, I 'm all right. Got upset, did n't I?" he asked,
presently, eyeing the prostrate velocipede with more anxiety about its
damages than his own.

"I knew you 'd hurt yourself with that horrid thing just let it be, and
come home, for your head bleeds dreadfully, and everybody is looking
at us," whispered Polly, trying to tie the little handkerchief over the
ugly cut.

"Come on, then. Jove! how queer my head feels! Give us a boost, please.
Stop howling, Maud, and come home. You bring the machine, and I 'll pay
you, Pat." As he spoke, Tom slowly picked himself and steadying himself
by Polly's shoulder, issued commands, and the procession fell into
line. First, the big dog, barking at intervals; then the good-natured
Irishman, trundling "that divil of a whirligig," as he disrespectfully
called the idolized velocipede; then the wounded hero, supported by the
helpful Polly; and Maud brought up the rear in tears, bearing Tom's cap.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Shaw was out driving with grandma, and Fanny was
making calls; so that there was no one but Polly to stand by Tom, for
the parlor-maid turned faint at the sight of blood, and the chamber-maid
lost her wits in the flurry. It was a bad cut, and must be sewed up
at once, the doctor said, as soon as he came. "Somebody must hold his
head;" he added, as he threaded his queer little needle.

"I 'll keep still, but if anybody must hold me, let Polly. You ain't
afraid, are you?" asked Tom, with imploring look, for he did n't like
the idea of being sewed a bit.

Polly was just going to shrink away, saying,