“Don’t talk now. Hurry,” was Molly’s brief reply.
Across a corner of the golf course they flew, and before Nance could take breath for another dash through a fringe of pine trees she caught sight of the waters, as black as ink. She clutched Molly’s arm.
“Did you hear anything?” she asked, in a frightened whisper.
They waited a moment, straining their ears in the darkness.
From the middle of the lake came the sound of a canoe paddle dipping into the water.
Molly breathed a sigh of relief.
“It’s all right,” she said, and they hastened down to the platform of the boathouse.
In another moment they had launched a small rowboat and were out on the lake.
“Will Judy Kean never learn sense?” Nance thought impatiently. “She’s just like a prairie fire. It only takes a spark to set her going and then she burns up everything in sight.”
Nance had never been able to understand why Judy could not hold her passionate, excitable temperament more in control. She, herself, had learned self-denial at an early age. But that was because she had a selfish mother.