t was. In the
meantime the guardian had glanced over her shoulder at the pond. She
saw the trunk slowly drifting in.

"Get it and open it, Hazel," she commanded.

"I haven't a key."

"Break it open with a stone. Never mind a key."

Hazel ran out into the water until she was up to her neck, then she
swam out. Reaching the floating trunk, she got behind it and began
pushing it shoreward. Margery and Tommy stood watching the
proceedings in speechless horror. Hazel got the trunk ashore, when,
following the guardian's directions, she broke the lock open with a
stone.

"It's open," she cried.

"Are the things inside very wet?"

"No; they are just as dry as they can be."

"Good. Are Harriet's clothes there?"

"I think so. Shall I take them out?"

"Not just yet. I will tell you if they are needed."

Hazel understood what was in the mind of the guardian. Were Harriet
Burrell not to recover, the dry clothing would not be needed.
Nevertheless, Hazel piled the contents of the trunk on the ground,
then replaced it, leaving Harriet's belongings at the top of the pile,
so that they would be ready at hand in case of need. In the meantime
Crazy Jane and Miss Elting persisted in their efforts to resuscitate
the unconscious girl. Though no sign of returning life rewarded their
labor, they continued without a second's halting. Half an hour had
passed. That was lengthened to an hour, then suddenly Jane stopped,
leaned over and peered into the pale face of Harriet.

"I see a little color returning!" she cried in a shrill voice.
"Hurrah! Harriet's alive!"

"You don't thay?" exclaimed Tommy.

"Keep her arms going! Don't stop for a single second," commanded Miss
Elting. "Hazel, take off Harriet's shoes. Beat the bottoms of her
feet. Oh, if we had something warm to put her in. Margery, you get out
Harriet's clothing from the trunk."

"I--I can't," answered Buster in a weak voice.

"Buthter ith too nervouth. I'll get them," offered Tommy. She did,
too. Now that she had something to do, she went about it as calmly as
though she had had no previous fear. "Are thethe what you want, Mith
Elting?" she asked.

"Yes; bring them here. She is breathing. Faster, Jane, faster!"

"Don't pull her armth out by the roootth," warned Tommy. The guardian
made no reply. It was a critical moment and Harriet Burrell's life
hung on a very slender thread. Return to consciousness was so slow as
to seem like no recovery at all. The spot of red th