Carry was the only one who seemed to have any presence of mind.

She sat down on the ground, and lifting Elsie's head, laid it on her lap, untied her bonnet-strings, and loosened her dress.
"Jim," she said to the black boy, who stood blubbering by her side, "run quickly for the doctor.

And you, Harry Carrington, go for her father, as fast as you can.

Lucy, crying so won't do any good.

Haven't some of you a smelling-bottle about you ?" "Yes, yes, here, here! quick! quick! Oh, Carry, say she isn't dead!" cried Mary Leslie, diving into her pocket and bringing out a small bottle of smelling salts that some one had presented her as a Christmas gift.
"No, she is not dead, Mary; see, she is beginning to open her eyes," replied Carry, now bursting into tears herself.
But Elsie opened them only for an instant, moaned as if in great pain, and relapsed again into insensibility, so like death that Carry shuddered and trembled with fear.
They were not more than a quarter of a mile from the house, but it seemed almost an age to the anxious Carry before Mr.Dinsmore came; although it was in reality but a few moments, as Harry ran very fast, and Mr.Dinsmore sprang into the carriage--which was at the door, some of the party having just returned from a drive--the instant he heard the news, calling to Harry to accompany him, and bidding the coachman drive directly to the spot, with all speed.
The moment they were off he began questioning the boy closely as to the cause of the accident.