Her chum laughed heartily at that statement.  “Well, let us hope he will keep so far away from us after this that we will have to use a spyglass to see him at all.”

“And there’s another person who can stay away from us,” said Bess, suddenly.

“Who’s that?” queried Nan, looking up at the change in Bess’ voice.

“Linda Riggs.  She’s coming this way,” Bess said, tartly.

This conversation occurred in the skating rink, and while Nan was having her skates strapped on by an attendant, for Walter Mason was not at the moment in sight.

The haughty daughter of the railroad president evidently proposed speaking with the chums from Tillbury.  They had not seen her since the runaway and more than once Nan had wondered just what attitude Linda would take when they again met.

For Nan’s part, she would rather not have met the rich girl at all.  She had no particular ill-feeling toward her now; although time was when Linda had done all in her power to hurt Nan’s reputation—­and that not so very long past.  But having actually helped to save the girl’s life, Nan Sherwood could not hold any grudge against Linda.  Bess, on the other hand, bristled like an angry dog when she saw Linda approach.

Linda came skating along warily, and arrived at the chums’ bench by a series of graceful curves.  She was rather a good skater, but more showy than firm on her skates.

“Oh, girls!  I’m awful glad to see you,” Linda cried, boisterously—­and that boisterousness doubtless was assumed to cover her natural embarrassment at meeting again the girl whom she had so injured.  “I didn’t have time,” pursued Linda, hurriedly, “the other day, to thank you properly—­or Walter—­for helping me out of that sleigh.  I was scared.”

“I should think you would have been,” Bess said, rather grimly.  “I’m sure I thought you would never get out of it alive.”

“Well,” repeated Linda, more doubtfully, for Nan had remained silent, “I wanted to thank you for what you did for me.”

“You needn’t thank me,” said Bess, sharply.  “For I didn’t do a thing.”

“Well, Nan Sherwood did, I s’pose,” Linda observed, her color rising.

“You are heartily welcome if you think you need to thank me, Linda,” Nan said, quietly.  “But Walter really did it all.”

“Of course!” said Linda, tossing her head, for Bess’ manner had rasped the rich girl, “I know it took Walter to do it.  But I presumed you girls expected to be thanked, too,” and she turned sharply away.

“Oh, Bess! we ought not to have spoken as we did,” murmured Nan, contritely.

“Pooh!  Let her go.  Mean old thing!” exclaimed Bess.  “And you didn’t say anything to get her mad.  Crocodile tears! what did I tell you?  Linda Riggs is a regular cat—­”

“Both cat and crocodile?” giggled Nan.  “Your natural history, Bess, honey, must be slightly twisted.”

“I’ve about got that girl’s number, just the same,” said Bess, slangily.  “You wait, Nan.  She’ll be just as mean when we get to Lakeview Hall as ever she was.  Mark my word.”