beside him, having the good sense to keep out of the
way of the broken glass, and lifted the little bleeding foot gently.

"Must have some sticking-plaster," said Fritz. "There's some in mother's
pocket-book in her room. We must go to mother, Baby."

"But him can't walk," said Baby piteously. "Him's foot bleedens dedful
when him moves it."

"Then I must carry you," said Fritz, importantly.

With some difficulty he got Baby on to his back and set off with him.
Baby had often ridden on Fritz's back before, in the nursery, for fun,
and it seemed very nice and easy. But now, though he had only his
nightgown on, Fritz was surprised to find how heavy he seemed after
going a little way. He was obliged to rest after he had gone up a few
steps, and Baby began to cry worse than before when he saw how tired
poor Fritz was. I really don't know how they ever got to the door of
mother's room, and, when their knocking brought her out, it was rather
a frightening sight for her--Baby perched on Fritz's back, both little
boys looking white and miserable, and the wounded foot covered with
blood.

But mother knew better than to ask what was the matter till she had done
something to put things to rights again.

"Him's foot" was the first thing Baby said, stretching out his poor
little toes.

And the foot looked so bad that mother felt quite thankful when she had
bathed it and found that the cut was not really a very deep one after
all. And when it was nicely plastered up, and both little boys were
tucked into mother's bed to get warm again, then mother had to hear all
about it. It was not much Fritz could tell. He, too, had wakened early,
and had heard Denny and Baby talking, for he slept in a little room near
theirs. He had fallen half asleep again, and started up, fancying he
heard a noise and a cry, and, getting out of bed, had found his way to
the pantry, guided by Baby's sobs. But what Baby was doing in the
pantry, or why he had wandered off there all alone so early in the
morning, Fritz did not know.

So Baby had to tell his own story, which he did straight on in his own
way. He never thought of _not_ telling it straight on; he was afraid
mother would be sorry when she heard about the "somesing" that was
broken, but it had never entered his little head that one could help
telling mother "ezackly" all about anything. And so he told the
whole--how he had been "sinking" about trunks and packing, and
"d'eaming" about them too,