The task, however, was not an easy one.  The drunken man was tall and strongly made, and his condition did not appear to interfere with his locomotion.  He was evidently half crazed with drink, and his pursuit of the young girl arose probably from a blind impulse; but it was likely to be none the less serious for her.  Grant saw at once that he was far from being a match for the drunkard in physical strength.  If he had been timid, a regard for his personal safety would have led him to keep aloof.  But he would have despised himself if he had not done what he could for the girl—­stranger though she was—­who was in such peril.

It chanced that Grant had cut a stout stick to help him on his way.  This suggested his plan of campaign.  He ran sideways toward the pursuer, and thrust his stick between his legs, tripping him up.  The man fell violently forward, and lay as if stunned, breathing heavily.  Grant was alarmed at first, fearing that he might be seriously hurt, but a glance assured him that his stupor was chiefly the result of his potations.

Then he hurried to overtake the girl, who, seeing what had taken place, had paused in her flight.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Grant.  “The man can’t get up at present.  I will see you home if you will tell me where you live.”

“I am boarding at Mrs. Granger’s, quarter of a mile back, mamma and I,” answered the girl, the color, temporarily banished by fright, returning to her cheeks.

“Where did you fall in with this man?” inquired Grant.

“I was taking a walk,” answered the girl, “and overtook him.  I did not take much notice of him at first, and was not aware of his condition till he began to run after me.  Then I was almost frightened to death, and I don’t think I ever ran so fast in my life.”

“You were in serious danger.  He was fast overtaking you.”

“I saw that he was, and I believe I should have dropped if you had not come up and saved me.  How brave you were!”

Grant colored with pleasure, though he disclaimed the praise.

“Oh, it was nothing!” he said, modestly.  “But we had better start at once, for he may revive.”

“Oh, let us go then,” exclaimed the girl in terror, and, hardly knowing what she did, she seized Grant’s arm.  “See, he is beginning to stir.  Do come quickly!”

Clinging to Grant’s arm, the two hastened away, leaving the inebriate on the ground.

Grant now had leisure to view more closely the girl he had rescued.  She was a very pretty girl, a year or two younger than himself, with a bright, vivacious manner, and her young rescuer thought her very attractive.

“Do you live round here?” she asked.

“I live in Colebrook, the village close by.  I was walking from Somerset.”

“I should like to know the name of the one who has done me so great a service.”

“We will exchange names, if you like,” said Grant, smiling.  “My name is Grant Thornton.  I am the son of Rev. John Thornton, who is minister in Colebrook.”