Jeanne knew no one in the little town. When you live on a dock, your nearest neighbors are apt to be seagulls. But, as she turned the corner near the post office, where she was going to buy stamps, she almost bumped into a former acquaintance. It was Roger Fairchild, the boy that she had rescued more than two years previously. Roger was taller, but he was still quite plump. "Oh," gasped Jeanne, recognizing him. "_Did_ the water spoil your clothes? I've always wondered about that." Roger looked at her sharply. Was it--yes, it _was_ that little shrimp of a girl that had pulled him out of the lake. She had grown a _little_, but she was that same child. The tomatoes in the corner grocery were no redder than Roger turned in that moment. "Aw, g'wan," muttered embarrassed Roger, brushing past her. "I don't know yuh." Jeanne felt slightly abashed. "I'm sure," thought she, glancing after him, "that that's the same boy. There can't be _two_ as fat as that. Probably he doesn't know me in these clothes. Next time, I'll say a little more." Of course Jeanne had learned under the Huntington roof that introductions were customary; but you see, when you've saved a person's life you feel as if that event were introduction enough without further ceremony. Also, when you've been kind to anybody, even an ungrateful boy, you have a friendly feeling for him afterwards. Besides, Jeanne rather liked boys, in a wholesome comrade-y sort of way. But if Roger seemingly lacked gratitude, his mother did not. She knew that Lake Superior was both deep and cold and that even the best of swimmers had been drowned in its icy waters. She felt that she owed a large debt of thanks to the tall, mysterious young woman who had saved her only child from certain death. For two years, she had longed to pay that debt. The Captain and Barney were landing when Jeanne reached the freight car. She ran down to hold out a hand to Barney. But Barney put his big hands behind his back. "They ain't clean," said he. Then he turned to Old Captain and spoke in an undertone. "_You_ got to tell her," he said. "I know I promised, but I can't." "I guess it's got to be did," sighed the Old Captain, "but you got to stand by." "This part of the wharf," remarked Jeanne, "looks a great deal battered up. Aren't some of the timbers gone?" "Yes," returned Old Captain. "You see there was a bad storm last May--Barney was out in it. It--it damaged his boat some." "Was Barney alone?" "No. Your father and Michael was with him." "Barney," demanded Jeanne, "where's my father _now_?" Barney, who was scooping fish into a basket, grabbed the handle and strode away as fast as his long legs would carry him. Old Captain shouted: "Barney!" but the younger man did not pause. "Jeannie girl," said Old Captain, as they followed Barney down the wharf, "Barney's _ashamed_ to meet you; but he ain't got no call to be. What happened weren't _his_ fault. But he thinks you'll hate him like p'isen when you know."