“Look out! You’ll have us all overboard!” Frances expostulated, raising her paddle, in quick alarm. Seated in the end of the canoe that faced Ruth, she cast the latter an appealing glance.
Ruth caught her breath sharply, then reluctantly added her plea of, “I’m afraid it isn’t quite safe, Blanche. You see—”
“I see that you girls are simply trying to be horrid to me!” interrupted Blanche furiously. Bringing up her hand from the lake with wrathful force, she overbalanced herself and swung heavily to the opposite side. Ruth’s sharp call, “Lean the other way!” alone saved them from disaster. With a sudden lurch, the canoe righted itself.
“I told you so,” snapped Jane, thoroughly incensed. “Only for Ruth we’d have gone straight into the lake. For goodness sake, sit still, Blanche, the rest of the way. I’m not anxious for a ducking even if you are.”
“Don’t think for a minute you can order me about, Jane Pellew!” stormed Blanche. “I won’t stay here and be treated like a child. Put me ashore,” she haughtily commanded Ruth. “I’ll find my way back to camp.”
“I can’t do that,” refused Ruth quietly. “Miss Drexal wouldn’t allow it. Don’t be cross, Blanche,” she made impetuous appeal. “We mustn’t quarrel this beautiful morning. As long as we weren’t upset—”
“I said ‘put me ashore,’” reiterated Blanche icily. “Are you going to do it?”
“No.” Ruth measured her angry vis-a-vis with a cool, level glance, then sent the canoe forward with a will. Their near-accident had left them some distance behind the others. Though she had kept her temper, Ruth’s paddle dipped and rose with an almost fierce energy. Never, since Blanche had joined them, had Ruth felt such exasperation against the ill-natured guest. She was quite ready to wash her hands of the whole reform movement.
Naturally, the disagreement put a damper on the quartette, as is always the case when one of a number is bent on being unamiable. Following Ruth’s “No!” Blanche had relapsed into formidable silence. Jane and Frances still continued to chatter to each other and to Ruth, yet all three were nettled over the fact that discord had arisen at the very outset of their voyage.
The sun was high in the heavens when the flotilla made harbor on a heavily-wooded shore of the island of their choice. Dark masses of tamarack, pine and spruce trees rose, grim and majestic, almost to the lake’s edge. This time they had truly reached the forest primeval. A hush pervaded the island, that suddenly stilled the voices of the landing party.