Complication upon complication!  
Dorothy could scarcely think—she was , bewildered.
 
The thought of Ned's of Tom's attention to her seemed the most bitter thought of all.
 
She did love Ned, her own cousin. How could any girl not appreciate the joy of being a cousin to Ned White?
 
And that he should misunderstand her! Think her , and even accuse her of !
 
Dorothy felt that even The now belonged to Ned, and she, with her father and brothers, were merely his guests.
 
How ever could she make him understand?
 
Why are girls neither women nor children in all the troublesome "between" years?
 
Then Tavia's troubles. Dorothy had thought to do all Miss advised, but how could she do so to-night? And the letter Dorothy had given Tavia was certainly from Mr. Travers.
 
Thoughts of the play, of little Mary's part, then the responsibility of insuring a success, crowded through Dorothy's confused brain.
 
If the play was a success she had hoped to get little Bennie Baglin into the hospital. He suffered so, and surely could be helped, if not cured, by proper treatment. But the hospital would only accept patients from the Birchlands according as money was contributed from the place, and it would cost considerable to have an (as Bennie was) taken in.
 
But Dorothy had quietly planned his Christmas. She had saved a little tree from the decorating greens, and had already gathered and bought enough trinkets to trim it.
 
"If only Ned is not badly hurt," she prayed as the night grew very late. "I do wish they would come."
 
The sound of wheels on the path answered her wish. The next moment she was at the door.
 
"Open both doors," Mrs. White said to Major Dale, who stood beside Dorothy. "He cannot walk, and must not be jarred."
 
Mrs. White's voice betrayed excitement and anxiety. Dorothy was too anxious to speak—she to know the actual trouble.
 
Tom and Dr. Whitethorn carried the injured boy into the library.
 
"How's that?" asked the doctor as Ned fell back amid the cushions of a couch.
 
"All—right," replied the latter with evident effort.
 
"Now just keep quiet, and don't attempt to move unaided," said the doctor, "and we'll see how it is in the morning. I think, Mrs. White, you might make him comfortable to-night on this floor. It will be safer."
 
Ned was very pale. Dorothy could not bear to see his white face with the deep dark rings under his eyes. Tom did what he could, and then was ready to leave.
 
He took Dorothy's arm and led her out into the hall.
 
"See here, little girl," he began, "you are not to blame yourself in any way for this. If any one was at fault it was I. I saw how he—felt, and should not have him."
 
"It was simply an accident," argued Dorothy feebly.
 
"Certainly," answered Tom; "but Ned was out of sorts. He seemed to have a personal against me."
 
"Oh, you must have imagined that," answered Dorothy. "Ned is sensitive, but not—unreasonable."
 
Tom pressed her hand warmly in parting. The action brought warm color to her cheeks. He was trying to cheer her, of course, but Ned would not have liked it.
 
When the doctor had left, Mrs. White told the major that her son's was hurt.
 
"And that does take so long to mend," she . "The hip is such a network of ligaments."
 
on the doctor's advice, the injured young man was made comfortable in the library for the night. Nat wanted to stay with him—there were plenty of and couches that might be used in the emergency—but Mrs. White insisted upon caring for the boy herself. She noticed he was becoming , and so hurried the others off to bed that the house might be quiet.
 
Dorothy took Ned's warm hand in hers and touched his forehead with her lips. But she knew better than to utter one word—he must be quiet, very quiet.
 
How strangely depressing was the house now with the gloom of sickness upon it! The awful of an accident, what the result might be, how serious or trifling—every possibility seemed weighted with terrible consequences.
 
Dorothy fell upon her knees beside her bed. Her heart was very full, everything seemed dark and gloomy now. All the difficulties of yesterday were in that one sorrow—Ned's accident. Dorothy seemed unable to pray, and ............