“I’ll make her. The things will be all right. There isn’t a soul here today, except us.”
Wrapping the cape closely around her, Patricia started briskly along the path toward the picnic grounds. Rhoda was sitting on a big stone, half way down one of the sloping sides of the depression, in a pool of sunlight which some broken branches let through. So deeply interested was she in her book, that she did not see Patricia until the girl stood right in front of her.
“I came back to get you,” panted Patricia. “We don’t like to have you up here all by yourself. That’s no fun. Come on!” taking the book out of the maid’s hands.
“I really don’t mind,” began Rhoda.
“But we do,” Patricia cut her short, putting out both hands to help her up from the stone.
Laughing a little in protest, Rhoda got up and the two started down the hill.
“Why, there’s Clarice,” said Patricia, stopping short in surprise, as she caught sight of the girl, swinging carelessly along beside the lake just below them. “She’s all dressed. I thought she was with the rest of the crowd. I wonder what happened.”
“She’s too near the ragged edge,” exclaimed Rhoda sharply.
Hearing voices, Clarice looked up without checking her pace. Her foot struck a hole in the bank beside the path, and with a cry she slid down into the lake. Dropping Anne’s cloak, Patricia dashed down the hill and dove into the water.
A treacherous current had immediately swept Clarice away from the bank and was bearing her out toward the center of the lake. “No use to call for help,” thought Patricia; “the rest of the girls are too far away. Lucky that Clarice learned to swim after all; for she’ll be able to help herself a little. She’s gone down!” Striking out frantically, with legs and arms, Patricia made what speed she could toward the place where she had seen Clarice disappear. Fear and necessity gave her extra strength and speed, so that she was near enough to Clarice when the girl came up to seize her by the collar of her sweater.