s the end of
the half-ruined framework. A few more steps and the groping feet would
be over the water.

With a sudden, stifled cry, Janice darted forward. At that moment the
child halted; but she gave no sign that she was aware of Janice Day's
presence. The child faced the not far-distant line of thickly-ranked
spruce upon the opposite shore of the little inlet, and from her parted
lips there issued a strange, wailing cry:

"He-a! he-a! he-a!" she repeated, three times; and back into her face
was flung the mocking laughter of the echo.

Janice had stopped again--held spellbound by wonder and curiosity. The
little girl stood in a listening attitude.

"He-a! he-a! he-a!" she cried again.

The obedient echo repeated the cry; but did the blind girl hear it?
She seemed still to be listening. Janice crept on along the broken
wharf, her hand outstretched, her heart beating in her throat.

The child ventured another step, and, indeed, she stamped upon the
beam. "He-a! he-a! he-a!" she wailed again--a thin, shrill,
unchildlike sound that made Janice shudder.

The cry was almost one of anger, surely that stamping of her foot
denoted vexation. Janice could see the profile of the child's face, a
sweet, wistful countenance. Her lips moved once more and, in a thin,
flat voice, she murmured over and over again: "I have lost it! I have
lost it!"

Janice spoke, her own voice shaking: "My dear! do you know it is
dangerous here?"

Her hand reached to clutch the child's arm if she was startled. A
little misstep would send the blind girl over the edge of the wharf.
But it was Janice who was startled!

The child gave her not the least attention--she did not hear. Blind
and deaf, and alone upon the shaking, broken timbers of this old wharf!

She raised her wailing cry again, and then listened for the echo that
she could no longer hear. The older girl's hand was stayed. She dared
not seize the child, for they were both in a precarious place and if
the little one was frightened and tried to wrench away from her, Janice
feared that they might both fall into the lake.

But the girl from Greensboro thought quickly; and this was an emergency
when quick thought was needed. She remembered having read that blind
people are very susceptible to any vibration or jar. She herself
stamped upon the old wharf-beam, and instantly the child turned toward
her.

"Who is it?" asked the little girl, in a flat, keyless tone.

"You