“I have it!” cried Jack. “We’re not far from the old mill. I’ll run over there, and get Old Hanson to make some coffee!”
“I’ll go!” volunteered Phil, anxious to be of service.
“No, let me,” insisted Jack. “I want to get dry and the run will do the trick,” and he was off on a path that led to the mysterious mill.
He was lucky in finding Old Hanson in his shack. The solitary man was just starting a fire for supper. The kettle was boiling and, quickly explaining the need, Jack helped make coffee. Then, with a pailful of the steaming beverage, while Hanson came after him with a blanket, the lad hurried back to where the others were.
The coffee was just what Natalie needed and it sent the warm blood into her now rather more pale than olive cheeks. She insisted on Jack and Blake taking some of the beverage, which they consented to do. For, though, the day was warm, their damp, clinging clothes were none too comfortable.
“Here, wrap her in this blanket,” urged Old Hanson as he came up. “It’s clean,” he added quickly, “I only use it as a spread for the couch. It will keep her from getting a cold.”
Natalie gladly wound it about her, and then, looking more than ever like an Indian maiden she was helped down to the smaller boat. Jack offered to row her to camp, and no one disputed him the honor. Mrs. Bonnell went with them to assist Natalie on reaching the tent. The others came on more leisurely, the overturned canoe having been righted.
Jack never rowed so fast in his life and he was in a warm, rosy glow when Crystal Springs was reached. Natalie, too, was much improved, and soon, clad in warm, dry garments she was herself again. The others came on, and then the whole affair was gone over in detail, each one telling his or her feelings during the crucial moments.
Phil was contrition itself, but no one blamed him, though they all agreed that they must all use more care in the future. The next day saw no ill effects of the accident, though Natalie remained rather quietly about camp, stretched in a barrel stave hammock the boys had made in honor of her “convalescence,” as they called it.
“Where are you boys going?” asked Marie, a few days later, as the three chums stopped in their repaired motor craft at the small dock of Dogwood Camp.