Hector’s heart stood still as he realized the peril of the child. He dashed forward on the impulse of the moment, and barely succeeded in catching up the little girl and drawing her back out of harm’s way. The driver, who had done his best to rein up his horses, but without success, ejaculated with fervent gratitude, for he, too, had a child of his own about the age of the little girl, “God bless you, boy.”
The little girl seemed less concerned than anyone of the spectators. She put her hand confidently in Hector’s, and said: “Take me to Mary.”
“And who is Mary?” asked Hector, kindly.
He did not require an answer, for the nurse, who, rather late in the day, had awakened to the fact that her charge was in danger, came running forward, crying: “Oh! Miss Gracie, what made you run away?”
“The little girl would have been killed but for this boy’s timely help,” said a middle-aged spectator, gravely.
“I’m sure I don’t know what possessed her to run away,” said Mary, confusedly.
“She wouldn’t if she had been properly looked after,” said the gentleman, sharply, for he had children of his own.
Hector was about to release the child, now that he had saved her, but she was not disposed to let him go.
“You go with me, too!” she said.
She was a pretty child, with a sweet face, rimmed round by golden curls, her round, red cheeks glowing with exercise.