pale through the dust, and her eyes were closed.
Johnny thought then that he had killed her.

He got up -- the nervous knees were no longer
plunging; then he heard a voice, a little-girl voice,
always shrill, but now high pitched to a squeak with
terror. It was the voice of Lily Jennings. She
stood near and yet aloof, a lovely little flower of a
girl, all white-scalloped frills and ribbons, with a
big white-frilled hat shading a pale little face and.
covering the top of a head decorated with wonder-
ful yellow curls. She stood behind a big baby-car-
riage with a pink-lined muslin canopy and con-
taining a nest of pink and white, but an empty nest.
Lily's little brother's carriage had a spring broken,
and she had been to borrow her aunt's baby-carriage,
so that nurse could wheel little brother up and down
the veranda. Nurse had a headache, and the maids
were busy, and Lily, who was a kind little soul and,
moreover, imaginative, and who liked the idea of
pushing an empty baby-carriage, had volunteered
to go for it. All the way she had been dreaming of
what was not in the carriage. She had come directly
out of a dream of doll twins when she chanced upon
the tragedy in the road.

"What have you been doing now, Johnny Trum-
bull?" said she. She was tremulous, white with
horror, but she stood her ground. It was curious,
but Johnny Trumbull, with all his bravery, was