“Oh, I won’t awaken her! I just want to look at her.”
“All right, dear,” agreed Miss Carlton, and, as soon as Ralph had left, she led the girls up to the old lady’s room.
Helen tiptoed over to the bedside and, kneeling down, looked eagerly at the worn face on the pillow. Her voice choked with emotion, as she sobbed in thanksgiving.
“Nana darling!” she whispered.
The old lady opened her eyes, and put out her wrinkled arms to embrace the girl.
“My precious child!” she cried. “You do remember me, Helen?” she asked hastily, for Miss Carlton had told her of the girl’s loss of memory.
“Yes, yes! I am all right, Nana dearest! And so happy!”
The reunion of the two devoted friends—the child and the nurse—was touching to see. Linda and her aunt crept noiselessly away, and Helen slept that night with her dear old nurse.
The morning newspapers carried the story of the fire, as Linda had expected. But she was surprised to see no mention of her own name, or of the terrifying rescue. Mike O’Malley had actually sacrificed that thrilling piece of news because he was too modest to mention his own part in the affair!
But a question which had not occurred to Linda before had been played up in the headlines. “Who,” the newspaper demanded, “was responsible for setting this house on fire?”—A man in disguise was suspected, it said, because a gray wig and beard had been found near the road. And these must have been left there recently, for otherwise they would have been wet from Saturday’s storm!