The hotel proprietor stood there with his helpers watching the blaze. But the girls watched the approaching boat, its situation revealed by the bobbing lantern.
“If that is Mr. Jimson,” said Helen, “I hope he can take us back across the river.”
“And he shall if it’s safe,” Nettie said, with confidence. “But my! the water’s rough.”
“Oh, Miss Nettie! Miss Nettie!” groaned Norma. “Yo’ ain’ gwine t’ vencha on dat awful ribber, is yo’?”
“Why not, you ridiculous creature?” demanded her mistress. “If you are afraid to stay here, and afraid to go in the boat, what will you do?”
“Wait till it dries up!” wailed the darkey maid. “Den we kin walk home, dry-shod—ya-as’m!”
“Wait for the river to dry up, and all?” chuckled Helen.
“That’s what she wants,” said Nettie. “I never saw such a foolish girl.”
The bobbing lantern came nearer. Just as it reached the edge of the submerged island, there arose a shout from the men aboard of her. Then sounded a mighty crash.
“Hol’ on, boys! hol’ on!” arose the voice of Mr. Jimson. “Don’t lose yo’ grip! Pull!”