"Come," she said. "Step carefully."
"But what are we going to do?" Jeanne asked. "You are not going in that?"
"Why not?" Kate laughed. "It is a few strokes only. We are going to cross to the ridges."
Jeanne followed her. Somehow or other she found it hard to disobey her guide. None the less she was afraid. She stepped tremblingly down into the punt, and sat upon the broad wet seat. Kate, without a moment's hesitation, took up the great pole and began pushing her way across the creek. The tide was almost at its height, but even then the current was so strong that they went across almost sideways, and Jeanne heard her companion's breath grow shorter and shorter, as with powerful strokes she did her best to guide and propel the clumsy craft.
"We are going out toward the sea," Jeanne faltered. "It is getting wider and wider."
She flashed her torch across the dark waters. They could not see the bank which they had left or the ridges to which they were making.
"Don't be afraid," Kate answered. "After all, you know, we can only die once, and life isn't worth making such a tremendous fuss over."
"I do not want to die," Jeanne objected, "and I do not like this at all."
Kate laughed contemptuously.
"Sit still," she said, "and you are as safe as though you were in your own armchair. No current that ever ran could upset this clumsy raft. The only reason I am working so hard is that I do not want to be carried down past the ridges. If we get too low down we shall have to walk across the black mud."