Suddenly, at the very highest point of the sweep, there was a sharp
noise of cracking. The swing gave a violent twist, spun half round, and
tossed Katy into the air. She clutched the rope,--felt it dragged from
her grasp,--then, down,--down--down--she fell. All grew dark, and she
knew no more.

When she opened her eyes she was lying on the sofa in the dining-room.
Clover was kneeling beside her with a pale, scared face, and Aunt Izzie
was dropping something cold and wet on her forehead.

"What's the matter?" said Katy, faintly.

"Oh, she's alive--she's alive!" and Clover put her arms round Katy's
neck and sobbed.

"Hush, dear!" Aunt Izzie's voice sounded unusually gentle. "You've had a
bad tumble, Katy. Don't you recollect?"

"A tumble? Oh, yes--out of the swing," said Katy, as it all came
slowly back to her. "Did the rope break, Aunt Izzie? I can't remember
about it."

"No, Katy, not the rope. The staple drew out of the roof. It was a
cracked one, and not safe. Don't you recollect my telling you not to
swing to-day? Did you forget?"

"No, Aunt Izzie--I didn't forget. I--" but here Katy broke down. She
closed her eyes, and big tears rolled from under the lids.

"Don't cry," whispered Clover, crying herself, "please don't. Aunt Izzie