“Yes, mum,” he stammered, breathlessly, his eyes bulging from his head,--“Oh! it's awful, mum! Don't know how many's drownded! Everybody's shovelin' on de railroad dump, but dere ain't nothin' kin save it, dey say!” She raced on--across the long street, avoiding the puddles as best she could; past the Hicks Hotel--no sign of Jack anywhere--past the factory fence, until she reached the railroad, where she stopped, gathered her bedraggled skirts in her hand and then sped on over the cross-ties like a swallow, her little feet scarce touching the cinders. Jack had caught sight of the flying girl as she gained the railroad and awaited her approach; he supposed she was the half-crazed wife or daughter of some workman, bringing news of fresh disaster, until she approached near enough for him to note the shape and size of her boots and the way the hat and veil framed her face. But it was not until she uttered a cry of agony and ran straight toward him, that he sprang forward to meet her and caught her in his aims to keep her from falling. “Oh, Jack!--where is daddy--where--” she gasped. “Why, he is all right, Miss Ruth,--everybody's all right! Why did you come here? Oh! I am so sorry you have had this fright! Don't answer,--just lean on me until you get your breath.” “Yes--but are you sure he is safe? The grocer's boy said nobody had seen him alive.” “Of course I am sure! Just look across--there he is; nobody could ever mistake that old slouch hat of his. And look at the big 'fill.' It hasn't given an inch, Miss Ruth--think of it! What a shame you have had such a fright,” he continued as he led her to a pile of lumber beside the track and moved out a dry plank where he seated her as tenderly as if she had been a frightened child, standing over her until she breathed easier. “But then, if he is safe, why did you leave daddy? You are not hurt yourself, are you?” she exclaimed suddenly, reaching up her hand and catching the sleeve of his tarpaulin, a great lump in her throat. “Me, hurt!--not a bit of it,--not a scratch of any kind,--see!” As an object-lesson he stretched out his arm and with one clenched hand smote his chest gorilla fashion. “But you are all wet--” she persisted, in a more reassured tone. “You must not stand here in this wind; you will get chilled to the bone. You must go home and get into dry clothes;--please say you will go?” Something warm and scintillating started from Jack's toes as the words left her lips, surged along his spinal column, set his finger tips tingling and his heart thumping like a trip hammer. She had called him “Jack!” She had run a mile to rescue him and her father, and she was anxious lest he should endanger his precious life by catching cold. Cold!--had he been dragged through the whirlpool of Niagara in the dead of winter with the thermometer at zero and then cast on a stranded iceberg he would now be sizzling hot.