She knew instantly, then, whose was the fat and apoplectic face; but she did not understand about the legs in the cruel looking iron braces until she had drawn a small and sharp-featured lad of seven or eight years of age from under the debris of the taxi-cab.

“Jingo!  Look at Pop!” exclaimed the crippled boy, who seemed not to have been hurt at all in the accident.

Mr. Ravell Bulson was trying to struggle out from under the cab.  And to his credit he was not thinking of himself at this time.

“How’s Junior?” he gasped.  “Are you hurt, Junior?”

“No, Pop, I ain’t hurt,” said the boy with the braces.  “But, Jingo! you do look funny.”

“I don’t feel so funny,” snarled his parent, finally extricating himself unaided from the tangle.  “Sure you’re not hurt, Junior?”

“No, I’m not hurt,” repeated the boy.  “Nor Buster ain’t hurt.  And see this girl, Pop.  Buster knows her.”

Mr. Ravell Bulson just then obtained a clear view of Nan Sherwood, against whom the little dog was crazily leaping.  The man scowled and in his usual harsh manner exclaimed: 

“Call the dog away, Junior.  If you’re not hurt we’ll get another cab and go on.”

“Why, Pop!” cried the lame boy, quite excitedly.  “That pup likes her a whole lot.  See him?  Say, girl, did you used to own that puppy?”

“No, indeed, dear,” said Nan, laughing.  “But he remembers me.”

“From where?” demanded the curious Ravell Bulson, Jr.

“Why, since the time we were snow-bound in a train together.”

“Oh! when was that?” burst out the boy.  “Tell me about it snow-bound in a steam-car train?  That must have been jolly.”

“Come away, Junior!” exclaimed his father.  “You don’t care anything about that, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes I do, Pop.  I want to hear about it.  Fancy being snow-bound in a steam-car train!”

“Come away, I tell you,” said the fat man, again scowling crossly at Nan.  “You don’t want to hear anything that girl can tell you.  Come away, now,” he added, for a crowd was gathering.

“Do wait a minute, Pop,” said Junior.  The lame boy evidently was used to being indulged, and he saw no reason for leaving Nan abruptly.  “See the dog.  See Buster, will you?  Why, he’s just in love with this girl.”

“I tell you to come on!” complained Mr. Bulson, Senior.  He was really a slave to the crippled boy’s whims; but he disliked being near Nan Sherwood, or seeing Junior so friendly with her.  “You can’t know that girl, if the dog does,” he snarled.

“Why, yes I can, Pop,” said the lame boy, with cheerful insistence.  “And I want to hear about her being snowed up in a train with Buster.”

“Your father can tell you all about it,” Nan said, kindly, not wishing to make Mr. Bulson any angrier.  “He was there in the snowed-up train, too.  That’s how I came to be acquainted with your little dog.  He was with your father on the train.”