Before the summer was over she had become so used to the sound
of the children's voices that she no longer found it necessary to go
to the window every five minutes to see what they were doing.
Ikey had a genius for getting hurt. Cuts, bumps, and bruises were
matters of every-day occurrence, and were accepted with a heroism born
of long familiarity. But one morning when he and Carl were on their
way to school he met with an accident which was unusually hard to
bear.
As they were passing a high board fence they heard a great barking and
growling, as if a lot of dogs were tearing one another to pieces.
"What in the world!" exclaimed Carl, trying to find some crack or
knothole.
"You can't see in that way," Ikey cried scornfully, and giving a
spring he grasped the top of the fence and drew himself up to look
over.
Exactly how it happened he could never tell; probably his curiosity
was resented, for before he had time to see anything, some sharp
teeth made themselves felt, and he dropped down groaning, "My nose! My
nose!" Carl was very much alarmed at sight of the blood that streamed
down from his face, but had presence of mind to remember a doctor's
office in the next block.
"Your nose isn't all gone, is it?" he asked anxiously, as he led the
way.
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