No sooner had she grasped the fact that she would be with her old friends in a few moments, than she recovered all her old sang froid. She shook out her clinging clothes, and twisted up her half-dried hair, then sat down on top of the promontory and sang. Yes, sang, and sang merrily, too, because she thought that would convey the impression of how unconcerned she felt.
Sound carries far over the water, so Julie’s singing was heard by the rescuers as soon as they came out into the lake. Then they shouted, and she replied. Finally they saw the solitary figure sitting upon a rock with both hands clasped about her knees, singing as if her heart was too full of joy to hold it all.
The moment the canoes came near enough, the Captain gazed up, and asked, “How can you get down, Julie?”
“Same way I came up, Verny—with my feet!”
Every one laughed, but Mrs. Vernon shook her head as she murmured, “Same old Julie! Nothing on earth will quench that spirit.”
Suddenly, to the horror of every one in the canoes, they saw a form shoot past them and dive into the water. But as suddenly, a laughing face appeared above the surface and soon Julie was in one of the canoes.
Had it not been for the danger of upsetting, the occupants of that canoe would have hugged the scout in their relief at having found her safe and sound,—because Joan’s report had been more than despairing.
“O Julie, darling! I thought you were dead!” cried Joan.
“Did you? But you wailed for yourself when you saw me go down to perdition,” scorned Julie.
“But how did you manage to get down to the promontory, Julie?” argued Joan, ignoring the other’s reply.