“But the boys—”
“Their camp isn’t in sight of this place, Wyn,” moaned Bess. “Oh! we will be drowned.”
But Wyn had another hope. She remembered, just before the overturn, that she had caught a glimpse of the red and yellow cottage behind Jarley’s Landing.
“Oh, Bess!” she gasped. “Perhaps Mr. Jarley will see us. Perhaps Polly—”
Another slapping wave came and rolled them and the canoe over. The frail craft came keel up, level full of water. The least weight upon it now would send it to the bottom of the lake.
“Oh, oh!” shrieked Bess, when she found her voice. “What shall we do now?”
They could both swim; but the lake was rough. The sudden and spiteful squall had torn up the surface for many yards around. Yet, as they rose upon one of the waves, they saw the sun shining boldly in the westward. The squall was scurrying away.
“Come on! we’ve got to swim,” urged Wyn.
“That’s so hard,” wailed Bess, but striking out, nevertheless, in the way she had been so well taught by the instructor in Denton. All these girls had been trained in the public school baths.