Out of the clouds came a low moaning—the voice of the rising wind. Soon, too, the swish of falling rain, which was beating the surface of the water to foam as it advanced, was also audible.
“Oh! what shall we do?” moaned Bess.
Nan was aroused by this. She glanced wildly around. They were a long way off Lighthouse Point, at the entrance to Freeling Inlet, and the storm was coming in such a direction that they must be driven up the lake and away from the Hall boat-landing—if, indeed, the canoe were not immediately swamped.
“Let go the sheet, Bess! Let go the sheet!” was Nan’s first cry.
“Goodness me! And the pillow cases, too, if you say so!” chattered Bess, clawing wildly at the rope in question.
But she had tied it in a hard knot to the cleat, and the more she tried to pull the knot loose, the tighter it became.
“Quick! quick!” Nan cried, trying to paddle the canoe around.
She understood nothing about heading into the wind’s eye; Nan only realized that they would likely be overturned if the wind and sea struck the canoe broadside.
The storm which had, at first, approached so slowly, now came down upon the canoe at terrific speed. The wind shrieked, the spray flew before it in a cloud, and the curtain of rain surrounded and engulfed the two girls and their craft.
The sail was torn to shreds. Nan had managed to head the canoe about and they took in the waves over the stern. She was saturated to the very skin by the first bucket of water.