But he came home at night depressed and a little gloomy.  There had always been a sort of rivalry between him and Dick Osgood, and now the boys seemed to have gone over to the stronger side, and he had that bitter feeling of humiliation and disgrace, which is as bitter to a boy as the sense of defeat ever is to a man.

The weeks went on, and the feeling wore away a little.  Still the memory of that blow rankled in Guy’s mind, and made him unsocial and ill at ease.  His mother watched him with some anxiety, but did not interfere.  She had the true wisdom to leave him to learn some of the lessons of life alone.

At length came the last day of school, followed next day by a picnic, in which all the scholars, superintended by their teachers, were to join.

Guy Morgan hesitated a little and then concluded to go.  The place selected was a lovely spot, known in all the neighborhood as “the old mill.”  It was on the banks of the Quassit River, where the stream ran fast, and the grass was green, and great trees with drooping boughs shut away the July sunlight.

Among the rest were Dick Osgood and his little sister Hetty, the one human being whom he seemed really and tenderly to love.  The teacher’s eyes were on him for this one day, and he did not venture to insult the older scholars or domineer over the little ones.  He and Guy kept apart as much as they conveniently could; and Guy entered into the spirit of the day, and really enjoyed it much better than he had anticipated.

Dinner was spread on the grass, and though it was eaten with pewter spoons, and out of crockery of every hue and kind, it was certainly eaten with greater enjoyment and keener appetite than if it had been served in the finest dining room.

They made dinner last as long as they could, and then they scattered here and there, to enjoy themselves as they liked.

[Illustration:  "Guy Morgan caught her by her long, golden hair."]

On the bridge, just above the falls, stood a little group, fishing.  Among them were Dick Osgood and his sister.  Guy Morgan, always deeply interested in the study of botany, was a little distance away, with one of the teachers, pulling in pieces a curious flower.

Suddenly a wild cry arose above the sultry stillness of the summer afternoon and the hum of quiet voices round.  It was Dick Osgood’s cry:  “She’s in, boys!  Hetty’s in the river, and I can’t swim.  O, save her! save her!  Will no one try?”

Before the words were out of his lips, they all saw Guy Morgan coming with flying feet,—­a race for life.  He unbuttoned coat and vest as he ran, and cast them off as he neared the bridge.  He kicked off his shoes, and threw himself over.

They heard him strike the water.  He went under, rose again, and then struck out toward the golden head, which just then rose for the second time.  Every one who stood there lived moments which seemed hours.