When it was quite dark, and Noddy had slept about two hours, the springing of the bolt in the lock of his door awoke him. He leaped to his feet, and his first thought was, that something was to be done with him for burning the boat-house. But the door opened, and, by the dim light which came through the window, he recognized the slight form of Fanny Grant.
"Noddy," said she, timidly.
"Well, Miss Fanny, have you come to let me out of jail?"
"No; I came to see you, and nobody knows I am here. You won't expose me—will you?"
"Of course I won't; that isn't much like me."
"I know it isn't, Noddy. What did you say that you set the fire for?"
"Because I thought that was the best way to settle the whole thing. Ben saw you come out of the boat-house, and told your father he believed you set the building on fire. That was the meanest thing the old man ever did. Why didn't he lay it to me, as he ought to have done?"
"I suppose he knew you didn't do it."
"That don't make any difference. He ought to have known better than tell your father it was you."
"I am so sorry for what you have done!"