At this moment some one appeared—one of the Irishmen.
“Take him and follow in that other canoe,” said Eve. “We want all the help we can get.”
As they pushed off rapidly—three minutes had not passed since they left the lodge—Priscilla Mile came hurrying down to the shore; she had been taking her daily exercise—a brisk walk of half an hour, timed by her watch. “Mrs. Morrison, Mrs. Morrison, where are you going? Take me with you.”
Cicely did not even look at her. “Go on,” she said to the man.
Eve was paddling rapidly; the second canoe followed hers.
When Mrs. Mile found that the two boats kept on their course, she went back to the lodge, put on her bonnet and shawl, and set off down the beach in the direction in which they were going, walking with steady steps, the shawl compactly pinned with two strong shawl-pins representing beetles.
As soon as they were fairly afloat, Cicely called: “Where is Jack? Tell me about it.”
“Presently,” answered Eve, without turning her head.
“No. Now!” said the mother, peremptorily.
“He is out on the lake, in the canoe.”