d as if, through the double neglect
of the driver and the nurse, the poor child would be crushed beneath the
hoofs of the horses and the wheels of the carriage.

CHAPTER XXX. A BRAVE DEED.

Hector's heart stood still as he realized the peril of the child. He
dashed forward on the impulse of the moment, and barely succeeded in
catching up the little girl and drawing her back out of harm's way.
The driver, who had done his best to rein up his horses, but without
success, ejaculated with fervent gratitude, for he, too, had a child of
his own about the age of the little girl, "God bless you, boy."

The little girl seemed less concerned than anyone of the spectators. She
put her hand confidently in Hector's, and said: "Take me to Mary."

"And who is Mary?" asked Hector, kindly.

He did not require an answer, for the nurse, who, rather late in the
day, had awakened to the fact that her charge was in danger, came
running forward, crying: "Oh! Miss Gracie, what made you run away?"

"The little girl would have been killed but for this boy's timely help,"
said a middle-aged spectator, gravely.

"I'm sure I don't know what possessed her to run away," said Mary,
confusedly.

"She wouldn't if she had been properly looked after," said the
gentleman, sharply, for he had children of his own.

Hector was about to release the child, now that he had saved her, but
she was not disposed to let him go.

"You go with me, too!" she said.

She was a pretty child, with a sweet face, rimmed round by golden curls,
her round, red cheeks glowing with exercise.

"What is her name?" asked Hector, of the nurse.

"Grace Newman," answered the nurse, who felt the necessity of saying
something in her own defense. "She's a perfect little runaway. She
worries my life out running round after her."

"Grace Newman!" said the middle-aged gentleman already referred to.
"Why, she must be the child of my friend, Titus Newman, of Pearl
Street."

"Yes, sir," said the nurse.

"My old friend little knows what a narrow escape his daughter has had."

"I hope you won't tell him, sir," said Mary, nervously.

"Why not?"

"Because he would blame me."

"And so he ought!" said the gentleman, nodding vigorously. "It's no
merit of yours that she wasn't crushed beneath the wheels of that
carriage. If you had been attending to your duty, she wouldn't have been
in danger."

"I don't see as it's any business of yours," said Mary, pertly. "You
ai