They had quickly reached the further end of the lake, and kept up a running fire of delighted exclamations at the beauties that nature had flung about this favored place with reckless prodigality.
“If a painter could only put it on canvas,” sighed Cora.
“He never could!” exclaimed Belle. “The best he could do would be a poor imitation.”
Suddenly Bess drew up her foot.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “my foot is soaking wet!”
Jack looked at the bottom of the boat.
“It’s a little water that’s seeped in,” he remarked. “We’ll get the bailer from the cabin locker and throw it out.”
Walter bestirred himself and got the bailer. But after he had used it for a minute, a puzzled look came into his face.
“It’s coming in faster than I can get it out,” he said.
Belle uttered a little cry, and Bess became a trifle pale.