“And see! There’s—the—canoe——!”
“Empty!” brave little Pat seemed suddenly helpless and leaned, for a moment, on the terrified Gloria. A rush of horror seized them. What if Jack——
“Pat! What shall we do! Can you swim?” cried Gloria.
“Swim! In that ice water?”
“But if we could reach the canoe! She might be near it!”
“Gloria Doane! Don’t you dare think of such a thing.”
“I’ve got to, Pat. I’m a safe swimmer, and the canoe is not so far out. Here, help me out of my things, I’ll bring the canoe back, at least.”
“Gloria!”
But the next moment there was a splash, then the waving up and down of lithe, white arms, as stroke after stroke took Gloria further from land and nearer the drifting canoe.
The impetuous act had been prompted by an irresistible impulse. Gloria Doane of Barbend, the seaside town, knew well the price of a moment’s delay against the water’s cruelty, and neither the current nor the icy lake could restrain her.