Elinor drew out a striped Roman blanket that Miss Campbell was in the habit of using to keep her knees warm when sailing, and thrust it into his hands.
They dipped it into the lake and throwing it over the obstinate little flames which still remained, extinguished them completely.
“It’s all out,” announced Edward, looking quite old and grizzled with his eyebrows and front hair burned to an ashen gray.
“I’m afraid your grandmother has had a bad shock, Edward,” said Elinor. “We must get her to shore as quickly as possible.”
“Grandmamma, dear grandmamma,” he exclaimed, kneeling beside her with a sudden impulse of affection which he would have lavished on her long before with a little encouragement.
The poor old woman lifted one hand heavily and put it on his head.
“Brase-boy sedward-my granson,” she tried to say.
“There comes the other launch,” cried Elinor as a boat shot out from shore. And it did not reach them any too soon, for the Firefly had a hole pierced in her side and was already fast filling with water.
It was not an easy matter to transfer Mrs. Paxton-Steele from one boat to the other, but it was finally accomplished, and towing the stricken Firefly after them, they made for the shore.
Nobody had remembered Clarence until they heard him hail loudly. He was evidently very tired and had been resting on his back when they reached him. But he clambered in and plucked up breath sufficient to say: