re Marjorie reached the bank with her burden.
Willing hands grasped Marcia, who, with unusual presence of mind for one
threatened by drowning, had tried to lighten Marjorie's brave effort to
rescue her. Once on dry land she dropped back unconscious, while
Marjorie clambered ashore, little disturbed by her wetting.

It was Jerry, however, who now rose to the occasion.

"Marjorie Dean," she ordered, "go into that tea shop this minute. I'm
going to my house to get you some dry clothes. I'll be back in a little
while."

Marjorie allowed herself to be led into the back room of the little
shop, where Marcia was already being divested of her wet clothing.
Fifteen minutes afterward the two girls sat garbed in voluminous
wrappers, belonging to the boat tender's wife, sipping hot tea. Marjorie
smiled and talked gaily with her admiring classmates, but Marcia sat
white and silent.

Suddenly a girl entered the room and pushed her way through the crowd of
girls to Marcia's side. It was Muriel Harding.

"How do you feel, Marcia?" she asked tremulously.

"I'm all right now," quavered Marcia.

Muriel turned impulsively to Marjorie, and bending down, kissed her
cheek. "You are a brave, brave girl, Marjorie Dean, and I hope some day
I'll be worthy of your friendship." Then she turned and fairly ran from
the room.

Before Marjorie could recover from her surprise, Jerry's loud, cheerful
tones were heard outside.

"Here's a whole wardrobe," she proclaimed, setting down two suitcases
with a flourish. "I came back in our car, and as soon as you girls are
dressed, I'll take you home, and as many more as the car will hold," she
added genially.

It was a triumphant little procession that marched to the spot where the
Macy's huge car stood ready. As Marjorie put her foot on the step a
girl's voice called out, "Three cheers for Marjorie Dean!" and the car
glided off in the midst of a noisy but heartfelt ovation.

They were well down the road when Marjorie felt a timid hand upon hers.
Marcia Arnold's eyes looked penitently into her own. "Will you forgive
me, Marjorie?" she said, almost in a whisper. "I've been so hateful."

"Don't ever think of it again," comforted Marjorie, patting the other
girl's hand.

"I must think of it," returned Marcia, earnestly. "I--I can't talk about
it now, but may I come to see you to-morrow afternoon? I have something
to tell you."

"Come by all means," invited Marjorie. "I must say good-bye now. Here