hospital, I suppose. I saw two policemen standing on the running-board of an open car coming up the street, and another sitting on the front seat by the driver. Then, for just an instant, as it flashed into the bright light under the windows, I could see that the policeman in front was holding in his arms a little boy—seven or eight years old—with his head, face upward, hanging over the edge of the car—bright red with blood—absolutely one bright red disc of blood—and streaming. Oh, it was horrible! You have no idea how horrible! And then, as it went past, I could see that there was a woman crumpled over in the rear seat, and an old man trying to hold her up."
"It must have been a shock," Willys offered; and I added something equally helpful, as one does on such occasions.
"Well, my dear," said Oliver, as we returned to the fireplace, "accidents, you know, do happen. Are you calmer now?"
"Yes," said Cornelia, "yes, I guess so. I'm trembling still. You've simply no idea how it shook me."
She sank into a chair, then recovered herself sharply, and said with a smile: "I'm sorry. Forgive me for making such a fuss over it. I'm all
