Yes, the water was deep--ten miles deep, he guessed--because it took an awful while to come up. Yes, he had been pulled out by _somebody_. Perhaps it _might_ have been a girl. A _big_ girl. A perfectly tremendous girl. A regular giantess, in fact. She had reached down with a long, _long_ arm, and helped him up. A fishnet? Oh--yes (casually), he believed there _was_ a fish net _there_. "Where," asked Mrs. Fairchild, "_was_ that dock?" "Oh, I dunno--just around anywhere. There's a lot of docks in Bancroft--a fellow doesn't look to see which one he's _on_." "But, Roger, where does the girl _live_? We ought to do something for her. I'm _very_ grateful to her. You ought to be too. Can't you tell me where she lives?" "Didn't ask her," mumbled Roger. "I just hiked for home." "And you don't know her name?" "No," said Roger, truthfully. "I didn't ask her _that_, either. I'm glad I got my pole back, anyhow." "Roger," said his mother, earnestly, "hereafter, when you go fishing, I shall go with you and sit beside you on the dock and hold on to you. Another time there might not be a great big, strong girl on hand to pull you out. We _must_ thank that girl." "I _hate_ girls," said Roger, who had finally escaped from his persistent mother. "And _small_ ones--Yah!" The girl that he thought he hated most was eleven years of age, and small at that. Yet, because of her carefree, outdoor life, she was wiry and strong; as active, too, as a squirrel. Also, she did a great deal of thinking. Little Jeanne Duval loved the old wharf because it was all so beautiful. She liked the soft blackness of the cindery soil that covered the most sheltered portions of the worn-out dock. She liked the little sloping grass-grown banks that had formed at the inner sides of the dock, where it touched the Cinder Pond. She liked to lie flat, near the steep, straight outer edge of the dock, to look into the green, mysterious depths below. _Any_thing might be down _there_, in that deep, deep water. The Cinder Pond was different. It was shallow. The water was warmer than that in the lake and very much quieter. There were small fish in it and a great many minnows. And in one sunny corner there were pollywogs and lively crawfish. Also bloodsuckers that were not so pleasant and a great many interesting water-bugs. Then there were flowers. Wherever there was a handful of soil, seeds had sprouted. Each spring brought new treasures to the old dock; each year the soil crept further lakeward; though the planking was still visible at the Duval corner of the wharf. The flowers near the shore were wonderful. Pink and white clover, with roses, bluebells, ox-eyed daisies, black-eyed Susans, wild forgetmenots, violets. And sometimes, seeds from the distant gardens on the high bluff back of the lake were carried down by the north wind; for, one summer, she had found a great, scarlet poppy; another time a sturdy flame-colored marigold.