“We’re alive, girls,” he called, hoarsely. “This brave fellow caught us just in time. Where’s Bess?”
“She doesn’t even know it was you in the burning boat,” cried Wyn. “But Frank and I started out for you.”
“You’d been awfully wet before ever we could have reached you, though, Mr. Lavine,” choked Frank, quickly turning from tears to laughter, as was her nature.
Mr. Jarley had dropped the sail again, and beckoned the girls to approach.
“Come aboard,” he said, gravely, “and I’ll tow your canoes behind us. Shall I take this gentleman to your camp, Miss Mallory?”
But Wyn was thinking to good purpose. She saw that Mr. Jarley, like his daughter, wished to have nothing to do with the Lavines. She knew that now Mr. Lavine would be doubly grateful to the boatman and that the time was ripe for the old friends to come to a better understanding.
“Why, Mr. Jarley,” she said, “we haven’t a thing at the camp he can put on–or the other man. No, sir. I don’t know what we should do with them there.”
Jarley’s face flushed and he glanced back at the Forge. But it was near sunset already, and the Forge was much farther away than his own landing. The case was obvious.
“Well,” he said, “I can take them home. Polly will find something for them to put on while their clothing is being dried. Yes! that may be best.”
“And you take us girls right along with you and we’ll paddle home from the landing,” declared Wyn.