“I will not,” laughed Polly. “Get ready—Go!”
Off they started for perhaps the sixth time. They were now well out from shore, and in places the ice was quite slushy. Polly raced ahead, never giving a thought about anything but the joy of sailing along with the wind in her face.
As she made the quick turn, the ice under their feet gave a sickening longdrawn “whirr-r” followed by a sharp crack.
For a minute there was pandemonium—what followed came very much more swiftly than it can be told.
There was a wild dash for firm ice—a startled scream and then the horrible picture of Betty struggling, and up to her neck in the water.
Lois and Polly made frantic efforts to reach her, but at every attempt the ice gave another warning crack.
Mrs. Baird, on the shore, called desperately for help, and the other girls stood rigid with fear.
It seemed an eternity, and then, the red-headed boy came, quickly, purposefully, and took command. He sent his friends for ropes and boards, while he himself lay down flat on the ice and wormed his way towards Betty.
She was still keeping up. Luckily the hole was small and she was wedged in between two big chunks of ice.
Lois and Polly stood helpless, waiting. Finally he called to them: “Get the rest and form a chain to me. Some one catch hold of my feet—Easy now.”