"And worked as nursemaid for Mrs. Brandon, of Russell Street, near Battersea Park?"
"Good gracious alive, yes! Did you know her? Be you—"
"Yes, I am little Helen Brandon, the child you put straddle-legged around your neck to run a race with another nurse-girl from Henley Street, at the other end of the row."
"Land sake! Be you that child? Who'd a'thought it! An' then to meet you here out in the wilds o' the wilderness!" The woman rose, and, with flushed and agitated face, came towards her.
Helen extended both hands, and Mrs. Latimer grasped them within her own.
"It was rough play, and weren't the square thing to do, I reckon; still, I don't think I hurt you, child."
"You didn't hurt me much, but I was terribly afraid you might fall. If I remember right, the other little girl screamed frantically at the last."
"And well she might," returned the woman with a grin, "for Ann did the very thing you were afraid of. She stumbled and rolled over, and I won the race."
"I must have been sadly frightened, for I remember crying over it in my little bed that night, and my mother insisted upon knowing the cause—so I told her—and I never saw you afterwards."
"Oh, she gave me my congé next morning, but I didn't care, for I had decided to come back to the States as soon as that month's work was up."