Something about the girl was familiar, even in the distance, and as we came near I recognized the mink coat that I had seen many times lately. There was no doubt about it. The girl on the end of the pier was Ethel Harper. I stood still, too much disgusted to speak. Ethel Harper, the daughter of one of the “first” families, with the best social position in the city, her mother prominent in all great uplift movements, carrying on a vulgar flirtation with Mrs. Anderson’s stable boy! So this was the great romance she had been hinting about at various times! Randall—that was the name of the girl she was intimate with; this was the Randall place. She had been coming here so often for the sake of the boy next door. Did she know he was an ignorant servant? I doubted it. Anything in men’s clothes set her silly head awhirl. I wished her haughty mother could have seen her then.
Mrs. Anderson suddenly laughed out loud and at that Ethel turned around and saw us. She gave a great start as she recognized me, took a step backward and fell off the end of the pier into the pond, disappearing with a shriek into the deep water.
I slipped out of my coat, threw off my shoes and went in after her. The water was so icy I could hardly swim at first. When I did get hold of her it was a battle royal to get her back to the pier. She was so weighted down by the fur coat and she struggled so fiercely that several times I thought we were both going down. Mrs. Anderson threw us a plank and with its help I finally got her to the pier.
“Now run for your life!” I ordered, my own teeth chattering in my head. “Drop that wet coat and I’ll race you to the house.” She didn’t move nearly fast enough to avoid a chill and I took hold of her hand and pulled her along.
Up in a cosy bedroom in the Randall’s house we sat up, some hours later, wrapped in blankets, and looked at each other gravely. Mrs. Anderson had been in and talked with Ethel like a big sister about the cheapness of carrying on flirtations with strange boys. Ethel had seen her little affair in its true light, robbed of all romance, and shame had taken hold of her. Mrs. Anderson explained how the gallant Romeo had seen his Juliet fall into the pond and had fled basely in the other direction for fear he would be blamed, making no effort to rescue her, and she might have been drowned if I hadn’t fished her out.
Ethel had been frightened out of her wits when she fell into the water; she was still suffering from the shock. She flushed hotly as she caught my glance, and cast down her eyes.
“Thank you, Miss Brewster, for saving my life,” she said rather shame-facedly. Then she went on in a low tone, “I want to tell you something. I wrote that letter to Mr. Butler,—the one that made mamma so angry.”
“I know,” I answered gravely.
“You knew, and you jumped into the water after me anyway?” she said in a tone of unbelief. “Why, you might have let me drown as easy as not.”
“O no, I mightn’t,” I answered. “That isn’t the way a Camp Fire Girl gets even.”