Harvey pulled manfully on the oars, but it was very hard for him to make any headway. Beth finally asked if she could not help to row.
"No, keep perfectly still where you are," he answered in such a short manner that his little companion felt grieved. She tried to let him know that she was hurt, by not saying another word, but he was too busy to mind. By this time, he was worried.
"Supposing anything happened to us," he thought to himself, "Beth's mother would never forgive me. It was my fault that Beth came."
He never knew exactly how it happened. Either the oar was defective, or else he pulled too hard on it as it struck a large wave; whichever it was, one of the oars snapped suddenly. For a moment or so the boat rocked helplessly on the waves, and it was driven backwards towards the shore from which they had just come.
"Harvey," asked Beth almost in a whisper, "are we going to be drowned? Can't I ever tell mamma how sorry, how very sorry, I am?"
"I won't let you drown, Beth."
He spoke with more assurance than he really felt, but his manner comforted her. He also proved that he was a born sailor. First, he skilfully steered the boat with the remaining oar. Next, he picked up from under one of the seats an old umbrella which chanced to be in the boat, and used it for a sail. Thus they were quickly carried back to shore not far from the scene of the fire.
Harvey once more helped Beth out, and made the boat fast. His plans were already made.
"Beth, wait here for me. I'm going to hire one of the men to take us back."
Beth had time, while he was gone, to consider all that had happened. More than ever, she felt that it had been very wrong for her to come without permission.