ttering with fright. "She broke her arm and held me up
with the other while she swam with her legs." Gladys's knees
gave way and she sank down on the dock, burying her face in her
hands.

And Sahwah the Sunfish, the lover of maiden bravery, the envier
of heroines, was the greatest of them all, and knew it not.

CHAPTER VIII.

A SERENADE.

"Is she dead?" cried the girls, gathering around with frightened
faces. Gladys caught the word "dead" and her heart turned to
water within her. The horror of the afternoon's experience had
made her see herself in her true light and she was overwhelmed
with shame at the sight. This Sahwah whom she had twitted as
being a coward and a baby because she would not break her word,
was made of the stuff that heroes are made of, and had probably
given her brave life to save her worthless one. Looking back
over the weeks she had spent in camp, she could not remember one
instance where she had done anybody a favor or entered with
enthusiasm into their plans, while Sahwah's unselfish devotion to
her during these last days smote her with sharp remorse. In the
new light she suddenly saw the vast difference between herself
and these other girls. Verily, they were not of her class,
because they were far above it. How could she ever take her
hands from her face and look at them again? "If Sahwah dies,"
she sobbed to herself, "I'll kill myself too."

Meanwhile Nyoda was working hard to bring Sahwah around. It was
not a case of reviving a drowned person, for Sahwah had swallowed
no water. She had fainted from exhaustion. Nyoda rubbed her and
held salts to her nose and Sahwah finally opened her eyes. "Did
I jump off in my sleep?" she asked dreamily.

"No, my dear, you did not," said Nyoda. "You're a real,
wide-awake heroine this time, and no mistake."

"Where's Gladys?" cried Sahwah wildly, starting up suddenly, and
falling back with a groan.

"She's all right," said Nyoda, without looking around. Sahwah
was carried up the hill and rolled in warm blankets and put to
bed with a hot drink, while Nyoda sped the launch across the lake
for the nearest doctor.

"Vell, vich von of de ladies has been celebrating dis time?" he
said with his German accent, as he entered the tent. He was the
same doctor who had come to look at Migwan's knee. "A broken
arm? Ach, so," he said, patting the injured member. "And for vy
did you not set it right away yourself, like dat Missis Migvan
did