be able to check his speed in time to avoid running over her.

But even while he perceived her peril the captain had, with an almost
lightning like movement, stooped over his child and dragged her
backward. Barely in time; Chester's skate just grazed her fingers,
cutting off the tip of her mitten. There were drops of blood on the ice,
and for a moment her father thought her fingers were off.

"Oh my child, my darling!" he groaned, holding her close in his arms and
taking the bleeding hand tenderly in his.

"I'm not hurt, papa; at least only a very little," she hastened to say,
while the others crowded about them with agitated, anxious questioning.
"Is Lulu hurt?" "Did Chess run over her!" "Did the fall hurt her?"

"My fingers are bleeding a little, but they don't hurt very much," she
answered. "I think his skate went over my mitten, and I suppose my
fingers would have been cut off if papa hadn't jerked me back out of the
way."

Chester had just joined the group. "I can never be sufficiently thankful
for the escape," he said with a slight tremble in his tones, "I could
never have forgiven myself if I had maimed that pretty hand; though it
was utterly impossible for me to stop myself in time, at the headlong
rate of speed with which I was moving."

"Your thankfulness can hardly equal her father's," the captain said
with emotion almost too big for utterance, as he gently drew off the
mitten, and bound up the wounded fingers with his handkerchief. "That
will do till I get you to the house. Shall I carry you, daughter?"