Wolcott Manor, the house of which Betty spoke, was a fine, spacious house situated on top of the hills, where run a broad plateau which later in its history developed into a long and broad street, on either side of which were erected dwellings which have since been interwoven with the stateliest names in old Connecticut.  The house was double, built in the style of the day, with a hall running through it, and large rooms on either side, the kitchen, bakery, and well-house all at the back, and forming with the buttery a sort of L, near but not connecting the different outhouses.  It was shingled from top to bottom, and the dormer windows, with their quaint panes, rendered it both stately and picturesque.  As the girls drew rein at the small porch, on the south side of the mansion, a tall, fine-looking woman of middle age, her gray gown tucked neatly up, and a snowy white apron tied around her shapely waist, appeared at the threshold of the door.

“Why, Betty,” she said in a surprised voice, “you have been absent so long that I was about to send Reuben in search of you.  The boxes are undone, and we need your help; Moppet—­why, what ails the child?” and Miss Euphemia Wolcott paused in dismay us she surveyed Miss Moppet’s still damp habit and disheveled hair.

“I’ve been at the very bottom of Great Pond.” announced the child, enjoying the situation with true dramatic instinct, “and Betty has all the herbs for Chloe safe in her basket.”

“What does the child mean” asked her bewildered aunt, unfastening the heavy cloth cape from the small shoulders, and perceiving that she had had a thorough wetting.

“It is true, Aunt Euphemia,” said Betty, springing off her mare and throwing the reins to Reuben as he came slowly around the house.  “We were on one of the hillocks overlooking the pond, and somehow—­it all happened so swiftly that I cannot tell how—­but Moppet must have ventured too near the edge, for the treacherous soil gave way, and down she pitched into the water before I could put out hand to stay her.  I think I screamed, and then I was pulling off my habit-skirt to plunge after her when a young man ran hastily along the below and cried out to me, ‘Courage!’ and he threw off his coat and dived down, down,”—­Betty shuddered and turned pale,—­“and then he caught Moppet’s skirt and held her up until he swam safely to shore with her.  She was quite unconscious, but by chafing her hands and giving her some spirits (which the young stranger had in his flask) we recovered her, and, indeed, I think she is none the worse for her experience,” and Betty put both arms around her little sister and hugged her warmly, bursting into tears, which until now had been so carefully restrained.

“Thank Heaven!” cried Miss Euphemia, kissing them both.  “You could never have rescued her alone, Betty; perhaps you might both have drowned.  Where is the brave young man who came to your aid?  I trust you gave him clear directions how to reach the house.”