Anyway, let's get down."
They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was pale and shivering.
Peter's face looked thinner than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and
damp with anxiety.
"Oh, how hot I am!" she said; "and I thought it was going to be
cold; I wish we hadn't put on our--" she stopped short, and then
ended in quite a different tone--"our flannel petticoats."
Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh, yes," she cried; "THEY'RE red! Let's take them off."
They did, and with the petticoats rolled up under their arms, ran
along the railway, skirting the newly fallen mound of stones and
rock and earth, and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran at their
best pace. Peter led, but the girls were not far behind. They
reached the corner that hid the mound from the straight line of
railway that ran half a mile without curve or corner.
"Now," said Peter, taking hold of the largest flannel petticoat.
"You're not"--Phyllis faltered--"you're not going to TEAR them?"
"Shut up," said Peter, with brief sternness.
"Oh, yes," said Bobbie, "tear them into little bits if you like.
Don't you see, Phil, if we can't stop the train, there'll be a real
live accident, with people KILLED.
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