“There isn’t a bite of lunch left,” declared the irrepressible Amy. “What Burd didn’t eat, little Hen did. Oh!”
“Step over there, girls!” ordered Darry.
He and Burd held the side of the launch close to the rough, wet bark of the big log. It was with some trepidation that Jessie stepped from the dipping rail to the top of the log. Amy shrank from the attempt, for she saw her chum suddenly fall on her knees and almost dive into the black water beyond her refuge.
“Oh! We’ll all be drowned!” Amy cried.
“Don’t be a dunce, Sis,” begged her brother. “If Jess can do it, you can. Be a sport.”
“Nev—never let—it—be said that I wasn’t a sport!” gasped Amy. “Here I come, Jess!”
The launch was down so low that the water began to slip over the rail into the cockpit. Darry went forward and dropped over the anchor. Burd began to snicker.
“What’s the matter with you?” his chum demanded.
“Oh, my eye!” gasped Burd Alling. “Dropping the anchor! Believe me, boy, this launch will be right here—on the bottom—without any iron down. Woof! Here we go!”
He leaped for the log, missed it by half a foot, and splashed into the water with a frightened cry.