Theresa forgot everything in the sight of the child's peril. Dashing forward, she caught him up in her arms, dropping basket and can and everything, and staggered across the road with him, just as a pale-faced gentleman, in semi-military dress, came rushing up in a terrible state of anxiety and excitement.
"Etienne, Etienne, what hast thou done?"
The little boy had given forth one lusty yell at the sight of blood on his tunic, but a hasty survey satisfied the father that it was a scratch rather than a wound the child had received, and the colour began to come back to his face.
"My brave girl," he said, turning to Theresa, "how can I thank you for this great service? Do you know that scarcely had you snatched up the boy and got him away than the ground where he was tying was torn up by some fragments of a shell? Had he lain there a few seconds longer he must have perished!"
"Ah, how glad I am I was there just then," said Theresa simply.
"Were you not frightened, my child? Did you not know the peril of passing that street?"
"Oh, yes; I know. I am rather frightened, but I have to go by every day to get food. I must be going now, or I shall lose my turn."
"Nay, nay; come back with me, and my wife shall fill the basket to-day," answered the gentleman, with a
