“It is Barney Ropes,” replied Tony.  “He is as big a rascal as there is out of jail.”

“Here they come.”

“Suppose we give them a volley of stones,” suggested Fred Harper.

“No!” said Frank, firmly.

The boat was pulling parallel with the shore, and not more than ten rods from it.  The Rovers yelled, and indulged freely in coarse and abusive language, as they approached.  Charles Hardy, with averted face, was pulling the forward oar; but not one of his former companions hailed him.  They pitied him; they were sure, when they saw his sad countenance, that he was suffering intensely.

Suddenly Charles dropped his oar, and stood up.

“See!  Tim Bunker!” shouted he, pointing to the opposite side of the lake.

All the crew turned their eyes that way, and Charles, seizing his opportunity, sprang with a long leap into the water.

The act was so sudden that the crew could not, for a moment, recover from their astonishment, and Charles struck out lustily for the shore.

“After him!” shouted Barney; and his companions bent upon their oars.

But their excitement threw them into confusion, they lost the stroke, and Barney was such a bungler himself that he could not get the boat about.

“Bravo, Charley!” shouted the Zephyrs.

“Let him go,” said Barney, when he realized that the fugitive was beyond his reach; and, rallying his crew, he retreated towards the island.

“Hurrah, Charley!  You are safe,” said Tony, as he waded into the water to help him ashore.

Charles was so much exhausted when he reached the land that he could not speak.  Captain Sedley, who had observed the occurrence from his library window, hastened down to the beach.

The penitent Zephyr, in his agony, threw himself on his knees before him, and in piteous, broken accents besought his pardon.  Captain Sedley was deeply moved, and they all realized that “the way of the transgressor is hard.”

The sufferer was kindly conveyed to his home by Captain Sedley, and his father and mother were too glad at his return to reproach him for his conduct.  When he had changed his clothes, and his emotion had in some degree subsided, he confessed his errors, and solemnly promised never to wander from the right path again.  And he was in earnest; he felt all he said in the depths of his soul.  He had suffered intensely during his transgression; and his friends were satisfied that he had not sinned from the love of sin.  He had been led away by Tim Bunker, and bitter had been the consequences of his error.  He had been punished enough,—­the sin had been its own punishment,—­and his father and his club freely forgave him.  He was not a hardened boy, and it was probable that his experience with the Rovers would prove a more salutary correction than any penalty that could be inflicted.