It was on Saturday afternoon, a week ago. He was out coasting with the other boys. Johnny Ware, a little fellow only five years old, was with them.
Harry and several other boys were going very swiftly down the hill as Johnny was coming up.
"Get out of the way!" shouted one boy.
"Look out, Johnny, turn to the right!" cried another. But the little fellow did not know which was right, and, being bewildered, stood still. The sleds were almost upon him, and it seemed as if he must be run over, when Harry caught him, and threw him one side, but not in season to save his own ankle.
It was badly sprained, and he had to be carried home. But when Harry remembers the danger, and how near Johnny came to being run over, he does not complain. He can even watch the boys cheerfully, and clap his hands in joy as he hears their ringing laugh and merry shouts.

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