The pond, like many of our small inland lakes, was shallow for some distance from the shore, and then suddenly shelved in unexpected quarters, developing deep holes where the water was so cold that its effect on a swimmer was almost dangerous.  Into one of these depths the little girl had evidently plunged, and realizing the cause of her sudden disappearance the stranger dived with great rapidity at the spot where the golden hair had gone down.  His first attempt failed; but as the child partially rose for the second time, he caught the little figure and with skillful hand supported her against his shoulder, as he struck out for the shore, which he reached quickly, but chilled almost to the bone from the coldness of the water.

“Do not be so alarmed,” he said, as Betty, with pallid cheeks and trembling hands, knelt beside the unconscious child on the grass; “she will revive; her heart beats and she is not very cold.  Let me find my coat,” and he stumbled as he rose to go in search of it.

“It is here,” gasped Betty; “I fetched it on my way down the slope; oh, sir, do you think she lives?”

For answer the young man produced from an inner pocket of his shabby garment a small flask, which he uncorked and held toward her.

“It is cognac,” he said; “put a drop or two between her lips while I chafe her hands—­so; see, she revives,” as the white lids quivered for a second, and then the pretty blue eyes opened.

“Moppet, Moppet, my darling,” cried her sister, “are you hurt?  Did you strike anything in your fall?”

“Why, Betty!” ejaculated the child, “why are you giving me nasty stuff; here are the tansy leaves,” and she held up her left hand, where tightly clenched she had kept the herbs, whose gathering on the edge of the treacherous bank had been her undoing.

“You are a brave little maid,” said the stranger, as he put the flask to his own lips.  “The shock will be all you have to guard against, and even that is passing;” for Miss Moppet had staggered upon her feet and was looking with astonished eyes at her dripping clothing.

“Did I fall, Betty?” she said.  “Why my gown is sopping wet,—­oh! have I been at the bottom of the pond?”

“You had stopped there, sweetheart, but for this good gentleman,” said Betty, holding out a small, trembling hand to the stranger, a lovely smile dimpling her cheeks as she spoke.  “Sir, with all my heart I thank you.  My little sister had drowned but for your promptness and skill; I do not know how to express my gratitude.”

“I am more than rewarded for my simple service,” replied the young man, raising the pretty hand to his lips with a profound bow and easy grace, “but I am afraid your sister may get a chill, as the sun is so low in the sky:  and if I may venture upon a suggestion, it would be well to ride speedily to some shelter where she can obtain dry clothing.  If you will permit me to offer you the cape of my riding-coat (which is near at hand) I will wrap her in it at once, and then I think she will he safe from any after-effects of her cold bath in the pond.”