nd seized her, and she capsized, then she
entangled herself in some weed and lay helpless just out of reach. The
little boy turned to Bobby:

'Lend me your stick, will you?' he said. 'Jane has run round to the
other side with mine. I thought my ship would go straight across to
her.'

Bobby handed him Nobbles very reluctantly. The little fellow stretched
Nobbles out, but just failed to reach his boat, then he lost his
balance, tumbled into the water himself, and though he scrambled out
again the next moment, he left go of Nobbles, who floated out of reach
at once. Bobby was frantic with grief. He wailed out:

Oh, Nobbles, Nobbles! Save him! Somebody save him!'

Nobody knew who or what Nobbles was for some minutes, and when they did
know they began to laugh. Away he floated. Would he go across the
pond and land safely the other side? At one time Bobby thought he
might, and held his breath whilst he watched him. Alas! he began to
circle round and round and finally remained almost stationary in the
middle of the pond. And then it was that Bobby burst into tears.

'He'll never come back no more! He'll be drownded; he'll go down to
the bottom, and I shall never see him again!'

'It's only a stick!' said a ragged-looking urchin, looking at Bobby
curiously. 'You can easy get another.'

'Oh, I can't! I can't! Do get him back for me! I love him so!'

The boy laughed, then surprised everyone by throwing off his jacket,
splashing into the pond, and swimming like a fish towards Nobbles.

Of course a policeman immediately appeared on the scene and was very
angry.

But when the boy returned to shore and presented Nobbles to his little
master, Margot protested against the hard words that were hurled at the
rescuer.

'It isn't many boys would get a wetting for a stick, so don't scold
him, poor boy! I'm sure Master Bobby is ever so grateful to him, for
he treasures that bit of stick like nothing else. What's your name, my
lad, and where do you live?'

'"Curly," they calls me, lidy, otherwise John Hart, I lives on my wits
most of the diy.'

'He's all wet,' said True, looking at the boy pitifully; 'how will he
get dry, Margot; he will catch cold.'

Bobby was so occupied in drying Nobbles with his pocket-handkerchief
that he hardly thanked the boy; now he looked up, and was quite as
distressed as True.

'He must be dried, Margot; let's take him home; it was so very good of
him.'

Margot hurriedly pr