“No,” she answered, glowing at the knowledge that he had taken so much trouble to seek for her in the crowd. “I have not seen a game since the first one you pitched. Father raises such objections that I have thought best to stay away, even though he has not positively forbidden me to attend. If I can get an escort, I shall do my best to persuade him to let me see the next game when Bancroft plays here. Every one in Kingsbridge seems to think it will be a great battle.” “Bancroft comes Wednesday, this week.” “And you will pitch?” “I don’t know; I presume so.” “Oh, I’ll see it unless father positively refuses to let me go. I _must_ see that game! I hope you pitch as well as you did before.” “I hope so myself,” he laughed, “although for a time in the first inning I was almost led to believe I couldn’t pitch at all.” “I’ll never forget it,” she breathed. “It was dreadful. The crowd was howling at you so, and you seemed utterly unable to get the ball over. I confess that I, too, thought you were useless as a pitcher. But when you redeemed yourself, and the crowd became satisfied that you could hold Bancroft, how quickly the howling turned to cheers! I can hear them now, crying: ‘Oh, you Lefty!’ It was splendid!” Janet’s cheeks were bright, and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm reawakened by those exciting moments. Watching the movements of her lips, revealing flitting glimpses of perfect teeth; listening to her voice, as sweet as that of Bassanio’s beloved maid; entranced by the violet light of her eyes, all aglow with earnestness; he was stirred as never before in all his life. Then and there came the knowledge that she was the one girl for him. He longed to tell her, but words fit to do him such service seemed impossible to find; he doubted if they were contained in any language. The first words were trembling on his lips when suddenly one of the romping children uttered a cry of pain, followed immediately by other cries, bringing Janet to her feet in alarm. “What is it?” she called. “It’s Jimmy,” answered Tommy Murphy, appearing from behind some bushes. “He’s cut his foot on somep’n. It’s bleedin’ fierce.” Locke was at Janet’s side when she reached Jimmy, who was sitting on the ground, surrounded by the other little boys, and holding one of his bare feet. It had been gashed by a broken bottle hidden by fallen leaves and vines. Without hesitation Janet dropped to her knees to do what she could, but Tom was equally swift and unfaltering in action. Whipping forth a spotless handkerchief, he knelt to bind up the injury. “It will be best to take him to a doctor right away,” he said, “for there may be pieces of glass in the cut. Let me attend to this, Miss Harting. I can do it alone; I won’t need any help,” he declared, as he observed that all the color had departed from her cheeks, leaving them very pale. “Let me help,” she urged steadily. “Yuh――yuh don’t think I――I’ll bl-e-bleed ter death, do ye?” sobbed Jimmy.