“We’ll try!” exclaimed Ruth. Her guardian caught a glimpse of her face as the skies flashed forth into flame again. Her lips were parted from her rapid breathing, revealing her white teeth, and even in the stress and fury of the storm Mr. Howbridge could not but admire her. Though no one ever called Ruth Kenway pretty, there was an undeniable charm about her, and that had been greater, her guardian thought, ever since the day of Luke Shepard’s entrance into her life.
“It’s our last hope, and a forlorn one,” Mr. Howbridge said dubiously, looking at their anchor.
Together they managed to drag the heavy piece of iron to the edge of the deck. Then, making sure the rope was fast about the cleat, they heaved the improvised anchor over the side. It fell into Lake Macopic with a great splash.
“What was that?” cried Neale, coming out on deck, followed by Agnes, who had been down watching him work at the engine.
“Our new anchor,” replied the lawyer. “It may serve to hold us if you can’t get the engine to working,” and he explained what he and Ruth had done.
“Good!” exclaimed Neale. “I hope it does hold, for it doesn’t seem as if we were going to get that monkey wrench out in a hurry. I’m looking for a long bar of iron to see if we can use it as a lever.”
“There may be one in the storeroom where we found the anchor,” remarked Ruth.
“I’ll have a look.”
The Bluebird was not living up to her name. Instead of skimming more or less lightly over the surface of the lake she was rolling to and fro in the trough of the waves, which were really high. Now and then the crest of some comber broke over the snub bow of the craft, sending back the spray in a shower that rattled on the front windows of the cabin.
Anxiously the four on deck waited to see the effect of the anchor. If it held, catching on the bottom of the lake, it would mean a partial solution of their troubles. If it dragged—