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the hole with my injured arm. But outside of
the barn I sat down right among all the nettles
and cried.
When I went into the house there was a
great commotion. Everybody was scared and
the doctor was sent for. My sleeve was cut
up to the shoulder, and the doctor said I had
broken a small bone in my wrist, and besides
had sprained and bruised my arm about as
much as I could.
“ You do everything so thoroughly, Inger
Johanne,” said the doctor.
When I was in bed with my arm in splints
and bandages, I began to cry violently. Not
so much because of my arm—though I cried a
little about that, too—but most that I should
have thought I could run away from Father
and Mother, who were so good. I told Mother
the whole thing.
“ But now I’ll never—never—never think of
running away again, Mother.”
The day the circus-riders left with the
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