t, breathless,

"Where's Mr. Gray?"

"In his study," answered twenty voices at once. The man darted toward the
house and went in; the next moment he reappeared with Mr. Gray, both of
them running.

"Get out the boat!" cried Mr. Gray, "and call the big boys. There's a man
drowning in the pond!"

The game was over at once, and each young heart thrilled with vague
horror. Abel Newt, Muddock, Blanding, Tom Gait, Jim Greenidge, and the
rest of the older boys, came rushing out of the school-room, and ran
toward the barn, in which the boat was kept upon a truck. In a moment the
door was open, the truck run out, and all the boys took hold of the rope.
Mr. Gray and the stranger led the way. The throng swept out of the gate,
and as they hastened silently along, the axles of the truck kindled with
the friction and began to smoke.

"Carefully! steadily!" cried the boys all together.

They slackened speed a little, but, happily, the pond was but a short
distance from the school. It was a circular sheet of water, perhaps a
mile in width.

"Boys, he is nearly on the other side," said Mr. Gray, as the crowd
reached the shore.

In an instant the boat was afloat. Mr. Gray, the stranger, and the six
stoutest boys in the school, stepped into it. The boys lifted their oars.
"Let fall! give way!" cried Mr. Gray, and the boat moved off, glimmering
away into the darkness.

The younger boys remained hushed and awe-stricken upon the shore. The
stars were just coming out, the wind had fallen, and the smooth, black
pond lay silent at their feet. They could see the vague, dark outline of
the opposite shore, but none of the pretty villas that stood in graceful
groves upon the banks--none of the little lawns that sloped, with a
feeling of human sympathy, to the water. The treachery of that glassy
surface was all they thought of. They shuddered to remember that they had
so often bathed in the pond, and recoiled as if they had been friends of
a murderer. None of them spoke. They clustered closely together,
listening intently. Nothing was audible but the hum of the evening
insects and the regular muffled beat of the oars over the water. The
boys strained their ears and held their breath as the sound suddenly
stopped. But they listened in vain. The lazy tree-toads sang, the
monotonous hum of the night went on.

Gabriel Bennet held the hand of Little Malacca--a dark-eyed boy, who was
supposed in the school to have had no father or mother, and