“Can't you back off?” Hi heard her ask the boatman.
“Not without lightening her, Miss. And she may have smashed a plank up there, too. I dunno.”
The Western girl turned immediately to Hiram, who had now come to the bank's edge. She smiled at him charmingly, and her eyes danced. She evidently appreciated the fact that the young farmer had her at a disadvantage—and she had meant to snub him.
“I guess you'll have to help me again, Mr. Strong,” she said. “What will we do? Can you push out a plank to us, or something?”
“I'm afraid not, Miss Bronson,” he returned. “I could cut a pole and reach it to the boat; but you girls couldn't walk ashore on it.”
“Oh, dear! have we got to wade?” cried one of Lettie's friends.
“You can't wade. It's too deep between the shore and the boat,” Hiram said, calmly.
“Then—then we'll stay here till the tide rises and dr-dr-drowns us!” wailed another of the girls, giving way to sobs.
“Don't be a goose, Myra Carroll!” exclaimed Lettie. “If you waited here for the tide to rise you'd be gray-haired and decrepit. The tide doesn't rise here. But maybe a spring flood would wash you away.”
At that the frightened one sobbed harder than ever. She was one of those who ever see the dark side of adventure. There was no hope on her horizon.