PART 1
8. CHAPTER EIGHT
(continued)
"Bring a rail. Quick, quick!"
How she did it, she never knew, but for the next few minutes
she worked as if possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite
self-possessed, and lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey
stick till Jo dragged a rail from the fence, and together they
got the child out, more frightened than hurt.
"Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can. Pile our
things on her, while I get off these confounded skates," cried
Laurie, wrapping his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps
which never seemed so intricate before.
Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home, and after
an exciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets before
a hot fire. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken but flown
about, looking pale and wild, with her things half off, her dress torn,
and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refractory buckles.
When Amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting
by the bed, she called Jo to her and began to bind up the hurt hands.
"Are you sure she is safe?" whispered Jo, looking remorsefully
at the golden head, which might have been swept away from her sight
forever under the treacherous ice.
"Quite safe, dear. she is not hurt, and won't even take cold,
I think, you were so sensible in covering and getting her home
quickly," replied her mother cheerfully.
"Laurie did it all. I only let her go. Mother, if she should
die, it would be my fault." And Jo dropped down beside the bed in
a passion of penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly
condemning her hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for
being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.
"It's my dreadful temper! I try to cure it, I think I have,
and then it breaks out worse than ever. OH, Mother, what shall I
do? What shall I do?" cried poor Jo, in despair.
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