“Oh, dear, me!” cried Bess. “Had we better turn back, Wyn?”
“We’re about as far from the Forge as we are from Green Knoll Camp,” declared the other girl.
“Then let’s run ashore—”
But they had struck right out into the lake from the landing, and it was a long way to land–even to the nearest point. While they were discussing the advisability of changing their course, there came a lull in the wind.
“Maybe we’ll get home all right!” cried Bess, and the two bent to their paddles again, driving the canoes toward distant Green Knoll.
And almost at once–her words had scarcely passed–the wind whipped down upon them from a different direction. The surface of the lake was agitated angrily, and in a minute the two girls were in the midst of a whirlpool of jumping waves.
In ordinary water the canoes were safe enough. But when Bess tried to paddle, a wave caught the blade and whirled the canoe around. She was up-set before she could scream.
And in striving to drive her own craft to her friend’s assistance, Wyn Mallory was caught likewise in a flaw, and she, too, plunged into the lake, while both canoes floated bottom upward.