“Wouldn’t help us much,” replied Alf. “But we might go down a ways and see if we can find them.”
“If we do find them I’ll swim over and get them,” said Dan, as they went along the bank.
“Indeed you won’t! You’d catch cold a day like this. But I would like to be sure that they haven’t gone sailing out to sea.”
They went on silently and dejectedly for nearly a quarter of a mile. There their farther progress was barred by a small stream which flowed into the river from the marsh.
“We might get across this by wading,” said Dan, “but there are any number more of them.”
The canoes were not in sight, although from where they had halted they could see both banks of the river as far as the next turn, an eighth of a mile below.
“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Alf.
“Walk home,” answered Dan. “It’s about six miles, though, the way we’ll have to go, for we’ll have to make a circle around the marsh and hit the Broadwood road somewhere beyond the Cider Mill. Even so, we’re in for wet feet.”
“If we were only on the other side,” mourned Gerald.
“That would be a cinch,” said Dan.