As I turned the last corner, I stopped with a gasp. I had barely escaped running into a girl—and such a girl! I knew her at once, although she had blossomed since I went away, and she was wearing no ostrich plume in her hat. Jimmy had not exaggerated.
She had stopped, too. She had to, for I brought to directly in front of her.
“Oh,” she said, with a little smile, “I beg your pardon.”
“Ann!” I said breathlessly. “Ann McKim, don’t you know me?”
I put out my hand, and her hand came slowly forward to meet it, while she looked up at me doubtfully. I watched the changing expression of her eyes. Recognition came into them suddenly, and she clasped my hand warmly.
“Goody gracious!” she cried. “It ’s Tim, I do believe! It ’s not strange that I did n’t know you! How you ’ve grown and broadened! I might have taken you for your father. You ’re as big as he is.”
“Am I?” I grinned, holding to her hand as if it were my mooring. “Am I, Ann?”
“And you ’re the color of new copper,” she added. “Have you been home yet?”
I shook my head. “I was just going there when I nearly ran you down.”
“Well, go along, Timmie, for mercy’s sake, and let your mother get a sight of you.” She freed her hand gently, and gave me a little push. “Do they expect you?”