Wyn's Camping Days; Or, The Outing of the Go-Ahead Club

by Amy Bell Marlowe

In the lead were Wyn, Bess, Grace, Frank, and half a dozen other girls from about the lake. There were already two spills, and several slight collisions followed. The handicap on the birch canoes was really greater than was expected, for being in the rear, they had to dodge all the overset boats and the other paddlers who did not know enough to keep out of the course.

But Polly Jarley had taken the outside and she shot by all the trouble easily. She was soon clinging to the skirts of the head canoes and it looked, before the turn, as though she would soon be in the lead herself.

Up ahead Wyn and Bess and Grace were struggling almost neck and neck with two strange girls. The captain of the Go-Aheads wanted to win–she wanted to do so very much. She was a good sport, and therefore a good loser; but that does not necessarily mean that one likes to lose.

Bessie Lavine was paddling splendidly for her–it was evidently one of her good days. Frank Cameron had fallen behind–indeed, she had clashed with another girl and both were out of the race.

Grace Hedges was almost as big and strong as Polly Jarley; but she lacked the training of the boatman’s daughter. Polly was used to hard work every day of her life. That is different from gymwork and a little paddling, or swimming, or other athletic fun a few times a week.

But Grace was doing finely and she even might have won had she not tried unwisely to pass one of her rivals. Her paddle clashed with that of the other girl. Both canoeists were straining hard–and their tempers were a bit strained, too.

“I wish you’d look where you’re going, Miss!” snapped the other girl, and before Grace could return the compliment–had she so wished–the two canoes crashed together and both girls were spilled into the lake.

There was no danger in these spills. Two motor boats followed behind and picked up the swamped contestants.

But before Grace was picked up she saw Polly Jarley flash by in the birchbark. There were but three cedar boats ahead of the boatman’s daughter, and all were coming down the return course, the paddlers straining to do their very best.

Wyn had a splendid, even stroke; Bess was getting heated, and bit her lip as she paddled. It always hurt Bess when she lost. Up from the rear Polly urged her birchbark with long, steady heaves that seemed to prove her magnificent muscles tireless.