"Oh!" gasped the little girl, quite overcome with the surprising beauty of this hitherto undiscovered treasure, "I guess I've found the Witch's Pool where the pale Princess was turned into a—Oh! I must get those flowers for Mrs. Crane; she'd love 'em."
A long, partly submerged log extended toward the center of the pond. Mabel very cautiously at first, then with more confidence, trusted her weight to this. If she could reach just one of those elusive flowers——
Suddenly there was a horrible "giving way" under her feet. She clutched wildly at unsubstantial air; there was a wild shriek followed by a violent splash. Millions of golden bubbles floated to the surface.
For a long moment that was all that the brown rabbit, safe among the ferns, could see. Then, a dozen feet away from the broken log, a queer green object, a most unpleasant-looking object, caught at the slimy branches of a water-logged, barkless tree that had stood in the pool for goodness only knows how many years; and, freeing one wet hand, wiped a veil of emerald slime from its mouth and eyes. The green object was Mabel; and tumbling right into Fairyland was not an entirely pleasant process.
Fortunately, a few short stumps of branches still remained firmly attached to the upright trunk. The plump "Princess" was able, happily, to find a firm foothold on one of these. Then, with her knees under water, her arms clasped about the slippery tree trunk, she stood more or less securely anchored in the treacherous pool, looking not unlike a green marble statue in the center of a fountain. Fortunately the water was not at all cold. Fortunately, too, it harbored none of the horrible things that Mabel imagined might be lurking beneath its verdant surface. It was because of her fear of possible—or rather impossible—alligators, snakes, and hippopotami that the little girl's voice proved unusually feeble when she attempted to shout for the help that she so sorely needed. At any rate, no one responded.
Although the wonderfully tinted bayou was a lovely spot to look at, with its green and golden browns in the sunlight, its deep sepia tones in the shadows, and its marvelous reflections of objects along the edge, poor Mabel found it hard to be compelled to gaze at it for so long a time. After the first half-hour, even with blue king-fishers and many-hued dragon-flies darting down after water bugs, or lightly skimming the jeweled surface, it seemed a lonely place. As for the frostlike blossoms that had lured her into the pool Mabel no longer admired them; and she hated the brown rabbit.
When noon arrived without bringing always hungry Mabel back to Pete's Patch—never before had she missed a meal—the other campers began to grow alarmed. By two o'clock the entire camp was scouring forest, lakeshore, and river banks for Mabel or traces of Mabel. Mr. Saunders had even loaded Mr. Black's gun and was firing it, at intervals, thus providing Mabel with a new cause for alarm, since she didn't know that the gun was pointed toward the open lake. Laddie was searching the rocks at Barclay's Point, Jean and Henrietta were examining the roads that Mabel sometimes explored for mushrooms, Dave and Marjory were following all the more or less familiar trails.
"She's fallen in, somewhere," declared Mrs. Crane, pale with anxiety, "and is drowned. Nothing else would have kept her away from lunch."
"And she can't get near water without falling in," agreed Bettie. "But, so far, she's always gotten out again."