“It’s queer she doesn’t come up,” he thought.

Then he gave a second look and saw that the dress of the unfortunate one was caught in some sharp rocks.  Without hesitation he dived overboard, straight for the bottom.

It was no easy matter to unfasten the garment, which was caught in a crack between two heavy stones.  But at the second tug it came free, and a moment later both our hero and Mabel Mallison came to the surface.

“Oh!” cried two of the ladies in the row-boat.  “Is she drowned?”

“I trust not,” answered Joe.  “Sit still, please, or the boat will surely go over.”

As best he could Joe hoisted Mabel into the craft and then clambered in himself.  As he did so the unfortunate girl gave a gasp and opened her eyes.

“Oh!” she murmured.

“You are safe now, Mabel!” said one of her companions.

“And to think it was my fault!” murmured the plump young lady.  “I shall never forgive myself as long as I live!”

Mabel Mallison had swallowed some water, but otherwise she was unhurt.  But her pretty blue dress was about ruined, and Joe’s new suit did not look near as well as it had when he had donned it.

“Let us row for the hotel,” said one of the young ladies.  “Are you all right?” she asked of Joe.

“Yes, ma’am, barring the wetting.”

“It was brave of you to go down after Mabel.”

“Indeed it was!” cried that young lady.  “If it hadn’t been for you I might have been drowned.”  And she gave a deep shudder.

“I saw she was caught and that’s why I went over after her,” answered our hero simply.  “It wasn’t so much to do.”

All dripping as he was, Joe caught up the oars of the boat and sent the craft in the direction of the hotel at a good speed.  That she might not take cold, a shawl was thrown over Mabel’s wet shoulders.

The arrival of the party at the hotel caused a mild sensation.  Mabel hurried to her room to put on dry clothing, and Joe was directed to go around to the kitchen.  But when the proprietor of the place had heard what Joe had done for his niece he sent the lad to a private apartment and provided him with dry clothing belonging to another who was of our hero’s size.

“That was a fine thing to do, young man,” said the hotel proprietor, when Joe appeared, dressed in the dry garments, and his own clothing had been sent to the laundry to be dried and pressed.

“I’m glad I was there to do it, Mr. Mallison.”

“Let me see, aren’t you Hiram Bodley’s boy?”

“I lived with Mr. Bodley, yes.”

“That is what I mean.  It was a terrible accident that killed him.  Are you still living at the tumbled-down cabin?”

“No, sir.  I’ve just sold off the things, and I am going to settle in town.”

“Where?”

“I haven’t decided that yet.  I was going to hunt up a place when Ike Fairfield gave me the job of rowing out the young ladies.”