nd hands especially--but it's the spine I'm afraid for. We can tell
better to-morrow. We made her as comfortable as we could. I gave her
something that'll make her sleep. Her mother's with her. But I'm afraid
her dancing days are over."

"Think of it--little Miss Carter!" Julie's voice sounded dazed.

"But, Jim," Ann said, "what was she doing in the mill?"

"Why, that's the point," he said. "She wasn't there when the fire
started. She was simply one of the crowd. But when she heard that the
children were there, she ran to the back of the mill, where there was a
straight up-and-down ladder built against the wall outside, so that the
tank could be reached that way. She went up it like a flash--says she
never thought of asking any one else to go. She broke a window and
climbed in--she says the floor was hot to her feet then--and she and
the kids ran up the inside flight to the trap-door. They obeyed her
like little soldiers! But the bridge side of the mill was the side the
fire was on, and the wood was rotten, you know--almost explosive. Half
a minute later and they couldn't have made it at all."

"How do you ACCOUNT for such courage in a girl like that?" marvelled
Julie.

"I don't know," he said. "Take it all in all, it was the most
extraordinary thing I ever saw. Apparently she never for one second
thought of herself. She simply ran straight into that hideous
danger--while the rest of us could do nothing but put our hands over
our eyes and pray."

"But she'll live, Jim?" the actress asked, and as he nodded a
thoughtful affirmative, she added: "That's something to be thankful
for, at least!"

"Don't be too sure it is," said Ann.

Ten days later Miss Ives came cheerfully into the sunny, big room where
Marian Carter lay. Bandaged, and strapped, and bound, it was a sorry
little Dancing Girl who turned her serious eyes to the actress's face.
But Julie could be irresistible when she chose, and she chose to be her
most fascinating self to-day. Almost reluctantly at first, later with
something of her old gayety, the Dancing Girl's laugh rang out. It
stirred Julie's heart curiously to hear it, and made the little
patient's mother, listening in the next room, break silently into tears.

"But this is what I really came to bring you," said the actress,
presently, laying a score or more of newspaper clippings on the bed.
"You see you are famous! I had my press-agent watch for these, and
they're coming in at a great rate ev