"Hi there, Sembrich!" commanded a fresh young voice, the owner of which emphasized his salute with his horn, "are you one of the factory kids?" Nance rose to a sitting posture. "What's it to you?" she asked, instantly on the defensive. "I want to know if Mr. Clarke's come in. Have you seen him?" "No, indeed," said Nance, to whom Mr. Clarke was as vague as the Deity; then she added good-naturedly, "I'll go find out if you want me to." The young man shut off his engine and, transferring two struggling pigeons from his left hand to his right, dismounted. "Never mind," he said. "I'll go myself. Road's too rotten to take the machine in." Then he hesitated, "I say, will you hold these confounded birds 'til I come back? Won't be gone a minute. Just want to speak to the governor." Nance scrambled down the bank and accepted the fluttering charges, then watched with liveliest interest the buoyant figure in the light suit go swinging up the road. There was something tantalizingly familiar in his quick, imperious manner and his brown, irresponsible eyes. In her first confusion of mind she thought he must be the prince come to life out of Mr. Demry's old fairy tale. Then she caught her breath. "I believe it's that Clarke boy!" she thought, with rising excitement, "I wonder if he'd remember the fight? I wonder if he'd remember me?" She went over to the automobile and ran her fingers over the silver initials on the door. "M.D.C," she repeated. "It _is_ him! It is!" In the excitement of her discovery she relaxed her grasp on the pigeons, and one of them escaped. In vain she whistled and coaxed; it hopped about in the tree overhead and then soared away to larger freedom. Nance was aghast at the catastrophe. She did not wait for the owner's return, but rushed headlong down the road to meet him. "I let one of 'em go!" she cried in consternation, as he vaulted the fence and came toward her. "I wouldn't 'a' done it for anything in the world. But I'll pay you for it, a little each week. Honest I will!" The handsome boyish face above her clouded instantly. "You let it go?" he repeated furiously. "You little fool you! How did you do it?" Nance looked at him for a moment; then she deliberately lifted the other pigeon as high as she could reach and opened her hand. "Like that!" she cried. Mac Clarke watched his second bird wheel into space; then his amazed glance dropped to the slim figure of the young girl in her short gingham dress, with the sunlight shining on her hair and on her bright, defiant eyes. "You've got your nerve!" he said with a short laugh; then he climbed into his car and, with several backward glances of mingled anger and amusement, drove away. Nance related the incident with great gusto to Dan that night on the way home. "He never recognized me, but I knew him right off. Same old Smart Aleck, calling people names."