“No. But are you all right!”
“Yes.”
“You’re higher up than I thought. Stop till I push the boat closer, and I’ll see if I can find any loose stones.”
“Stop a minute,” said Scarlett, in the same smothered voice, which sounded faint as a whisper. “Let me see if I can move any of them.”
Fred waited, and, peering through the twigs, he could see that Nat was patiently waiting for him to come in sight again.
“Some of them seem loose,” came from within; “but I can’t get them out.”
“Don’t stop to try now,” said Fred. “Let’s come another time; we can’t make any mistake, now. Oh!”
The cry was involuntary, for all at once a patch of ivy just above the level of the water seemed to be driven outward, and several stones about the size of his head fell with a splash down among the alder roots, followed by a heavy gush of water, which poured forth fiercely into the woody edge of the lake, and continued to pour as if a fresh lake was discharging its waters into the old one.
So near was the edge of the boat, that the water nearly rushed in; but though it was afterwards slightly drawn toward it, a snatch at a bough drew it back, and Fred stood gazing wonderingly at the rush which foamed in.
Then he looked across the lake, wondering whether Nat could hear and see. But he was too far distant to see more than a little ebullition which might have been caused by the movement of the oars and boat, for the water that poured in was discharged in quite a dense thicket of moisture-loving growth.