It was rather a long way to town, but Jeannette, freshened by a bath in the Cinder Pond and clad in a clean dull-blue linen frock, trudged along the road until she reached the sidewalk. Here she unfolded something that she carried in her hand--a small square of cloth. With it she carefully wiped the dust from her shoes.
"There," said she, throwing away the rag. "The Cinder Pond Savage looks a little more like Jeannette Huntington Duval."
She proved a better shopper than Old Captain. A new five-and-ten-cent store provided her with some excellent plated knives, forks, and teaspoons. She bought three of each--Barney might want to stay to supper sometime. Also a nice smooth saucepan, some fruit, some rolls, some cookies; besides the white oilcloth, which had proved inexpensive; and some other drygoods. So many things, in fact, that she wondered how to get them home.
[Illustration: SHE ALMOST BUMPED INTO A FORMER ACQUAINTANCE]
"Where," asked the clerk, at the last place, "shall I send this?"
"It's out quite a little beyond the town," said Jeanne, doubtfully.
"Well, we'll send it for you. The wagon is going to the life-saving station today. I'll send your other parcels, too, if you like."
"Good," said Jeanne, who meant to watch for the wagon where the road turned. "Now I'll be able to buy one or two more things."
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.
"_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."