"My dear child!" said he, "what _are_ you doing?" "Just feeling to see how warm it is," said Jeanne, kicking up her heels in order to reach deeper. "It's awfully cold, isn't it? If there weren't so many windows and folks around, I think I'd like to go in swimming." "Swimming! Can you swim?" "Of course," returned Jeanne. "I swam in the Cinder Pond." From time to time, homesick Jeanne continued to test the waters of the fountain. In August, to her delight, she found the water almost lukewarm. To be sure, the weather was all but sizzling. Her grandfather, accustomed to seeing her dabble her fingers in the water, was far from suspecting the shocking deed she was contemplating. Then the deed was accomplished. For thirteen blissful mornings, the Cinder Pond Savage did something that made Harold seem, to his mother, like a little white angel, compared with "that dreadful child from Bancroft." Of course, it _was_ pretty dreadful. For thirteen days, Jeanne slipped joyfully from her bed at four o'clock, crept down the stairs, out of the dining-room door, and along the walk to the fountain. She slipped out of her night-dress, slid over the edge, and, for three-quarters of an hour, fairly revelled in the fountain. For thirteen glorious mornings--and then--! Mrs. Huntington had had a troublesome tooth. She rose to find a capsicum plaster to apply to her gum. To read the label, it was necessary to carry the box to the window. She glanced downward--and dropped the box. Something white and wet and naked was climbing out of the fountain. Had some horrid street-boy dared to profane the Huntington fountain? The "boy," poised on the curb, shook his dark head. A bunch of dark, almost-curly hair fell about his wet shoulders. "Jeanne!" gasped Mrs. Huntington. "What _will_ that wretched child do next!" Jeanne was late to breakfast that morning. She had fallen asleep after her bath. When she slipped, rather guiltily, into her place at the table, her Uncle Charles, who ordinarily paid no attention to her, raised his eyebrows, superciliously, and fixed his gaze upon her--as if she were an interesting stranger. Her grandfather, too, regarded her oddly. So did her Aunt Agatha. "I'm sorry I'm so late," apologized Jeanne. "I slept too long." "You are a deceitful child," accused Mrs. Huntington, frigidly. "You were _not_ asleep. For how long, may I ask, have you been bathing in the fountain?" "About two weeks," said Jeanne, calmly. "It's _lovely_." "Lovely!" exclaimed Mrs. Huntington. "It's _disgraceful_! And for two weeks! Are you sure that no one has seen you?" "Only a policeman. He was on horseback. You see, I frightened a blue-jay and he squawked. The policeman stopped to see what had frightened him, but I pretended I was part of the statue in the middle of the fountain." Uncle Charles suddenly choked over his coffee. Her grandfather, too, began suddenly to cough. Dignified James, standing unobserved near the wall, actually _bolted_ from the room.