ng it,
from the group just around the fireworks. A pinwheel had exploded,
sending a shower of sparks in every direction.

All in a second, Florrie Dean flew past the girls, her white fluffy
dress on fire. And quick as the fire itself, Cynthia tore after her.
Well was it that the shabby green delaine was a woolen dress, that the
stout shoes did not encumber the nimble feet, that the child's faculties
were so alert. In a second she had seized the great shawl, and almost
before any of the grown people had realized the child's peril, had
smothered the flames by winding the thick folds over and over, round and
round, the fleecy dress and the frightened child.

Florrie was only slightly burned, but Cynthia's little hands were so
blistered that they would neither wash dishes nor pick beans for many a
day.

Mrs. Dean bathed them in sweet oil and bandaged them from the air, then
put Cynthia to bed on a couch in a chamber opening out of her own room.
From time to time in the night she went to see if the dear child was
sleeping quietly, and Mr. Dean, standing and looking at her, said, "We
owe this little one a great debt; her presence of mind saved Florrie's
life."

Early the next morning Bonny Bess trotted up to Mr. Mason's door without
Cynthia. Aunt Kate was feeling impatient for her return. She missed the
willing little helper more than she had supposed possible. She had
arranged half a dozen tasks for the day, in everyone of which she
expected to employ Cynthia, and she felt quite disappointed when she saw
that Mr. Dean was alone.

"Another picnic for to-day, I suppose," she said to herself. "Cynthia
may just as well learn first as last that we cannot afford to let her go
to such junketings often."

But Mr. Dean broke in upon her thoughts by saying, blandly: "Good
morning, madam. Will you kindly tell me where to find Mr. Mason?"

"He's in the south meadow," she answered, civilly, pointing in that
direction. "I see you've not brought Cynthia home, Mr. Dean. I need her
badly. Mrs. Dean promised to send her home early."

"Mrs. Dean will call on you herself in the course of the day; and it is
about Cynthia that I wish to consult her father, my good lady," said Mr.
Dean, lifting his hat, as if to a queen, as he drove toward the meadow.

"Well! well! well!" said Aunt Kate, feeling rather resentful, but on the
whole rather pleased with the "good lady" and the courteously lifted
hat. A charming manner is a wonderful magicia