The first person out was Carpenter. He took one glance at the form
under the car, and saw there was no hope there; then he ran to the
child in the gutter and caught it into his arms. The poor people who
rushed to the scene found him sitting on the curb, gazing into the
pitiful, quivering little face, and whispering grief-stricken words.
There was a street-lamp near, so he could see the face of the child,
and the crowd could see him.
There came a woman, apparently the mother of the dead child. She saw
the form under the car, and gave a horrified scream, and fell into a
faint. There came a man, the father, no doubt, and other relatives;
there was a clamoring, frantic throng, swarming about the car and
about the victims. I went to Carpenter, and asked, "Is it dead?" He
answered, "It will live, I think." Then, seeing that the crowd was
likely to stifle the little one, he rose. "Where does this child
live?" he asked, and some one pointed out the house, and he carried
his burden into it. I followed him, and it was fortunate that I did
so, because of the part I was able to play.
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