“Pretty rough going, but a good sight better than mud, at that,” was Fol’s verdict. “I vote we get started.”
“But how do you know the stream is fordable at this point?” asked Darry.
Miss Alling had started back toward the cars, evidently intent upon following Fol’s suggestion without delay, but at Darry’s question she turned and looked at him squarely.
“My dear boy, I don’t know,” she told him. “The world is full of gambles. This is one of them.”
“I don’t want to gamble,” wailed Amy, as they followed Aunt Emma. “I only want to live. Jessie, I give you my word I feel ten perfectly good years of my life slipping away.”
“I have heard that people actually do die of fright sometimes,” said Jessie, cheerfully, and Amy shot her a reproachful glance.
“Mean old thing,” she said. “I don’t believe you are frightened in the least, Jessie Norwood.”
“Why should I be?” returned Jessie, with a laugh. “It isn’t as though we hadn’t been close to drowning before. Barry’s yacht, the Marigold, for instance.”
“Well, just because we nearly drowned once isn’t to say that I ought to enjoy it the second time,” grumbled Amy. The next moment she gripped Jessie’s arm. Miss Alling had turned the car and had headed it straight toward the river.
“Here goes,” sang out Nell. “Hold your hats, everybody!”