"I'm bothered about my grandfather, too. I've written to him four times and I haven't heard a _word_."

"You told them about your father--"

"No," confessed Jeanne, "I didn't. I _couldn't_ write about it to Aunt Agatha--she despised him. And I heard James say that any bad news or _anything_ very sudden would--would bring on another one of those strokes. Of course they think I'm with daddy--I didn't think of that. I didn't _mean_ to deceive anybody."

"Well," said Old Captain, "I guess your idee of not startling your gran'-daddy was all right. But you'd better write your Aunt Agathy, some day, an' tell her about your father. There's no hurry. I'd _ruther_ you stayed right here."

"And I'd rather stay."

"Then stay you do. But before real cold weather comes we gotta fix up some place ash.o.r.e for you, where there's somebody to keep a good fire goin'. Maybe me and Barney can build on an addition behind this here car--say two good rooms with a door through from here. But there's no need to worry for a good while yet. We're cozy enough for the present and October's sure to be pleasant--allus is. About school, now. I guess you'd better start next Monday. Whatever damage there is, for books or anything else, I'll stand it. An' if there was music lessons, now--"

Jeanne made a face. Old Captain chuckled.

"Maybe," said he, "there wouldn't be time for that."

"I'm _sure_ there wouldn't," agreed Jeanne.

On Sat.u.r.day, Jeanne went up town to buy food. But first she visited the five-and-ten-cent store to buy an egg-beater. Just outside, she came face to face with Roger Fairchild--and his mother.

Jeanne, an impish light in her black eyes (she was only sorry that she wasn't carrying one of Mrs. Schmidt's outrageous bouquets), stopped square in front of the stout boy and said:

"_Did_ you spoil your clothes?"

As before, Roger turned several shades of crimson. Jeanne did not look almost fourteen, for she was still rather small for her years.

"_Did_ you?" persisted his tormenter.

"Yes, I did," growled Roger. "Hurry on, Mother. I gotta get a haircut as soon as we've had that ice cream."

Jeanne explained the matter to Old Captain, who had heard about the accident to Roger.

"He's one of the kind of boys you can _tease_," said Jeanne. "I'm afraid I _like_ to tease, just a little. He looks like sort of a baby-boy, doesn't he?"

Meanwhile, the boy's mother was questioning her curiously embarra.s.sed son.

"Roger," said she, "who _was_ that pretty child and what did she mean?"

"I dunno," fibbed Roger.

"Yes, you _do_. _What_ clothes?"

"Oh, old ones--don't bother."

"I _insist_ on knowing."

"Aw, what's the use--the ones that got in the lake and shrunk so I couldn't wear 'em," mumbled Roger. "Come on, here's the ice-cream place."

"How did _she_ know about your clothes?" persisted Mrs. Fairchild.

"Aw," growled Roger, "she was hangin' 'round."

"When you fell in?" demanded Mrs. Fairchild, eagerly. "Does she know that n.o.ble girl that saved you? Does she--_does_ she, Roger?"

"Oh, I s'pose so," said Roger. "How should _I_ know--come on, your ice cream'll get cold."

"But, Roger--"

"Say," said desperate Roger, whose chin was as smooth as his mother's, "if you ever buy me a razor, I wish you'd buy _this_ kind--here in this window. Look at it. That's a _dandy_ razor."

"A razor!" gasped Mrs. Fairchild. "What in the world--"

Roger gave a sigh of relief. His mother had been switched from that miserable Cinder Pond child. He chatted so freely about razors that his mother was far from guessing that he knew as little about them as she did.

"Fancy you wanting a razor!" commented his astonished mother.

"There's no great rush," admitted Roger, feeling his smooth cheek, "but I bet I'll get whiskers before you do."

"They'll be pink, like your eyebrows," retaliated Mrs. Fairchild, "but never mind; my eyebrows grew darker and yours will."

"Gee!" thought Roger, "I'm glad I thought of that razor--that was a close shave."

CHAPTER XXIII

A NEW FRIEND FOR JEANNE

The very next day, when Old Captain and Jeanne were coming away from the hospital, they met Mrs. Fairchild going in to visit a sick friend. The impulsive little lady pounced upon Jeanne.

"Please don't think that I'm crazy," said she, in a voice that Jeanne considered decidedly pleasing, "but you're _just_ the person I wish to see. One day, more than two years ago, my son Roger fell into Lake Superior and was _almost_ drowned. He says that you know the girl--a very _large_ girl, Roger said she was--that saved his life. Just think!

Not a word of thanks have I ever been able to give her. I am _so_ anxious to meet that brave girl."

"Well," said Old Captain, with a twinkle in his eye, "you're meetin' her right now. She tore a hole two feet across that there net o' mine savin' your boy. That's how I come to know about it."

"Not this _little_ girl!"

"It was mostly the net," said Jeanne, modestly. "I just threw it over the place where he went down. His fingers _had_ to grab it. I lived right there, you know, and I had pulled my little brother Sammy out ever so many times. He was _always_ tumbling in."

"My dear," declared Mrs. Fairchild, "I'm going home with you. I want to see the exact spot. Roger has always been so vague about it. Get into my car--it's just outside the gate--and I'll drive you there. I must run in here first, but I won't stay two minutes."

It was Old Captain's first ride in an automobile, and he was surprised to find himself within sight of his own home in a very few minutes after leaving the hospital.

"This here buggy's some traveler," said he, admiringly.

They escorted Mrs. Fairchild to the end of the dock, to show her the spot from which Roger had taken his dangerous plunge. She looked down into the green depths and shuddered.

"Ugh!" she said, "it _looks_ a mile deep. Oh, I'm _so_ thankful you happened to be here."