“Scorch O’Brien,” replied Nancy.
“Well, for goodness sake! if that doesn’t sound interesting,” cried Jenny. “Who is Scorch O’Brien? What a perfectly ridiculous name! Why ‘Scorch?’”
“He’s red-headed,” explained Nancy, doubtful now. She saw that she had got herself to a point where she must tell it all—every bit of her story—if she wished to keep Jennie’s friendship.
“Bully! Scorch O’Brien is fine,” laughed Jennie. “Let’s hear all about you, Nancy Nelson. I bet you’ve got lots of the queerest friends, only you don’t know it. I—I’ve got nothing but brothers, and sisters, and cousins, and all that sort of trash. The Bruces hold most all the political offices in the town where I come from. You couldn’t throw a stone anywhere in Hollyburg without hitting one of the family.
“But just think! You’ve got no folks to bother you. There are no teasing cousins. You haven’t got to ‘be nice’ to relatives that you fairly can’t help hating!
“Oh, I believe you’ve got it good, Nancy Nelson; only you don’t know it!”
So, thus encouraged, and lying in Jennie’s warm embrace, Nancy whispered the full and particular account of the little, unknown girl who had been brought to Higbee School, far away in Malden, nearly ten years before.
She told Jennie about Miss Prentice and about the long, tedious vacations with Miss Trigg, even down to the last one when she had helped save Bob Endress—then a perfect stranger to her—from the millpond.
“And he knew you right away on the ice to-day? I saw him! Good for you! He’s the most popular boy in Clinton Academy,” declared Jennie with conviction.
“But I don’t care anything about that,” said Nancy, honestly. “I want the girls to like me. And I know if they learn that I am just a nobody——”