Soon
Grace had reached forty. Then came fifty, and then sixty.
"I do believe she will reach a hundred after all," declared Nellie
Parks, a little enviously.
"I will, if you turn steadily," answered Grace, in a panting voice. Her
face was strangely pale.
"Oh, Grace, hadn't you better stop?" questioned Nan. She was a little
frightened, but, nevertheless, kept on turning the rope.
"No!" puffed Grace. "Go--go on!"
She had now reached eighty-five. Nellie Parks was counting:
"Eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety!" she went
on. "Ninety-one-, ninety-two----"
"No--not so--so fast!" panted Grace. "I--I--oh!"
And then, just as Nellie was counting "Ninety-seven," she sank down in a
heap, with her eyes closed and her face as white as a sheet.
For a moment the other girls looked on in blank wonder, not knowing what
to make of it. Then Nan gave a scream.
"Oh, girls, she has fainted!"
"Perhaps she is dead!" burst out Nellie Parks. "And if she is, we killed
her, for we turned the rope!"
"Oh, Nellie, please don't say that!" said Nan.
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