asked Jack, stoutly, though still too giddy to see straight.

The group about him opened, and his comrade in misfortune was
discovered lying quietly in the snow with all the pretty color
shocked out of her face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half
stunned. But no wounds appeared, and when asked if she was
dead, she answered in a vague sort of way,--

"I guess not. Is Jack hurt?"

"Broken his head," croaked Joe, stepping aside, that she might
behold the fallen hero vainly trying to look calm and cheerful with
red drops running down his cheek and a lump on his forehead.

Jill shut her eyes and waved the girls away, saying, faintly,--

"Never mind me. Go and see to him."

"Don't! I'm all right," and Jack tried to get up in order to prove that
headers off a bank were mere trifles to him; but at the first
movement of the left leg he uttered a sharp cry of pain, and would
have fallen if Gus had not caught and gently laid him down.

"What is it, old chap?" asked Frank, kneeling beside him, really
alarmed now, the hurts seeming worse than mere bumps, which
were common affairs among baseball players, and not worth much
notice.

"I lit on my head, but I guess I've broken my leg. Don't frighten
mother," and Jack held fast to Frank's arm as he looked into the