He was a strong young man. As the tire went whirling down the stream he drew them both up the bank—the girl first, clinging with desperation to the wrist of the half-drowned boy.
Wet, spattered, with mud, and exhausted, Nancy got a footing on firm ground once more. The chauffeur grabbed at the boy’s other arm, and he was quickly lying on the bank, too.
“It—it almost got me!” gasped the boy.
His face was streaked with mud, and he was altogether a sorry spectacle. But through it all he had clung to the bunch of water-lilies.
“Here! Take ’em!” he panted, thrusting the blooms into Nancy’s hand. “You—you’re all right! Say! wha-what’s your name——”
Nancy heard the other girls coming down the path now. The danger was over and she suddenly realized that she must look a perfect fright.
“N-never mind! Thanks!” she blurted out, and turning sharply, dashed into the cover of the thicket and was almost instantly out of sight—out of sound, as well.
But she was so excited that she did not think again how she looked until she appeared before Miss Trigg.
The short-sighted teacher looked up at her—stared, evidently without identifying her charge for the moment—and then gave voice.
“Nancy! Nancy Nelson! Whatever have you been doing to yourself?”