"I do hope it may be no bad news he may be sent with, Meester Beckley," said Mrs. Anderson. She had been sitting silent on one of the boxes Billy provided, the little girl leaning on her knees. All the Andersons had watched the fire constantly, their heavy hearts revealed in their sad faces.
"I–I think not," spoke the man in a puzzled way, glancing toward the fire now almost bursting through the shore line.
"It will be hot here, and dangerous," said Phil, looking in the same direction. "We must shove down the lake. Our poles won't reach to go out farther. The water's too deep. We'll lie off opposite the marsh near the Point."
Shouting to the approaching boat to follow, Way and Billy slowly pushed their heavy craft to the west. The skiff overtook them easily and quickly.
"Hello!" grinned Paul Jones as Dave faced quickly about when the boat came alongside. But his half-jocular tone fell on ears attuned to serious matters.
"Oh! this is a terrible thing," said MacLester, his eyes fixed on the flood of flames.
"I was never so glad as I am this minute! What in the world happened to you, Dave? But never mind; you're safe now," Way answered with emphasis.
Somehow all felt it was no time for conversation. Dave made no response to Phil's question. But Billy Worth–Chef Billy–remembered one thing.
"Have you had anything to eat?" he demanded. "I'll bet you haven't!"
"Mighty little–either of us," was the answer. "We were lost,–just about."