Ruth hoped none of the other girls saw that mask of dread which the situation had forced upon their little coxswain. She wanted to cry out to Trix—to warn her to hide her emotion. But she had no breath to spare for this.
Every ounce of breath and of muscle she owned, Ruth put into her stroke. She felt the rhythmic spring of the craft, and knew that her mates were keeping well up with her. They were doing their part bravely, even though they might be frightened.
And then, suddenly and fortunately, the freshman craft found a sheltered bit of water. A high shoulder of the hilly island broke the force of the wind.
"Ashore! Put us ashore!" Ruth managed to gasp so that Trix heard her.
"We—we'll wreck the shell!" complained Trix. "It's so shallow."
"We'll not drown in shallow water," ejaculated Ruth, expelling the words between strokes.
The coxswain shot them shoreward. She caught a glimpse of another boat pulled up on the beach—the skiff they had earlier seen rounding the point of the island.
In thirty seconds they were safe. The rain began to pour down upon them in a brisk torrent. But that did not matter.
"Rather be half drowned in the rain than wholly drowned in the lake!" Jennie Stone declared, as they scrambled out into the shallow water, more than ankle deep, and lifted the treacherous shell out of the lake.
"Goodness! what a near one that was!" Helen declared.