“What’s the matter with you, Bob?” she heard Grace call after the boy.
“Say! I know that girl,” a cheerful voice declared, and the next moment the speaker, bending low, and racing like a dart, reached Nancy’s side.
“Hold on! Don’t you remember me?” he exclaimed.
Nancy looked at him, startled. His plump, rosy, smiling face instantly reflected an image in her memory.
“I’m Bob Endress,” he said. “But if it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t have had any name at all—or anything else in life. Don’t you remember?”
It was the boy who had been saved from the millrace that August afternoon. Of course Nancy couldn’t have forgotten him. But she was so confused she did not know what to say for the moment.
“You haven’t forgotten throwing that tire to me?” he cried. “Why! that was the smartest thing! The chauffeur would never have thought of it. And Grace and those other girls would have been about as much use as so many mice. You were as good as a boy, you were. I’d have been drowned.”
“I—I’m glad you weren’t,” she gasped.
“Then you remember me?”
“Oh, yes. I couldn’t forget your face.”