The three chums, after floundering about in the water, had now ventured to raise their heads, but Jack appeared not to have quite freed himself of the pestiferous insects so rudely disturbed, and after getting a needful breath of air he had to duck under the water again.
Blake had reached a deep place and was swimming down the lake, making rather slow progress because of his clothes. He came presently to a little point, swam in until his feet could touch bottom, and then, cautiously waiting to see if any of the hornets were about, and hearing none, ventured to go ashore.
Phil, too, had managed to get rid of his guard of honor, and was approaching the little gravelly beach. But Jack seemed to have more than his share.
“I’ll fix you for this, Phil, when I——” he began, and then he had to get beneath the water again.
“Swim up the shore a bit, duck down and I guess they’ll leave you,” called Blake, and Jack, catching at least the drift of the advice, if not all the words, did so. Soon three dripping figures stood on shore, cautiously listening for the hum of the hornets’ wings.
“I—I guess they’re gone,” said Phil slowly, as he looked at a rapidly swelling wrist.
“They ought to,” said Blake. “The next time you throw a stone at a hornets’ nest we’ll make you stay and apologize. I’m stung in half a dozen places!”
“So am I,” declared Jack. “What’s good for the bites?”
“They don’t bite, they sting,” Reuben informed them as he tied the boat in which he had arrived, and walked up to the tents. “If they’ve left their stinger in it’s worse, too.”
“How do you tell that?” Jack wanted to know.