The canoe blew inshore rapidly. Henry was sitting in the shadow of a tree and knew the girl had not seen him. Another moment passed and the bow of the canoe grated upon the pebbly beach, hardly ten feet from where he sat.
Henry started to his feet. The girl was standing up, gingerly trying to walk shoreward in the rocking little craft. Henry shouted. The girl looked up, startled; and at the same instant a wave struck the stern quarter of the canoe, sluing it around. The girl lost her balance and fell overboard.
Henry leaped forward to the beach. He was not a bit frightened, he told himself afterward; instead, there was joy in his heart—a fierce, reckless joy. For this at last was life!
The canoe, partly filled, rolled sidewise to the waves and grounded. The girl struggled to her feet, knee-deep in the water and soaking wet. Henry ran past the canoe, and without hesitating, waded out and stood facing her.
“I fell overboard,” announced the girl.
“Yes, I—I saw you,” said Henry. “I was sitting there.” He waved his hand vaguely toward the shore. His heart was almost smothering him; yet he felt no surprise, for it seemed only natural and right that she should come to him so unexpectedly and so soon. For Henry at once recognized this girl standing beside him in the lake as the girl he had passed and smiled at that morning.
And then, in a flash, he knew also that it was to her beautiful blue eyes he had been reading poetry all that day, and it was her wayward golden tresses that had floated before him and would not go away, even when the customer was annoyed because a shoe pinched.
“Why, you’re all wet,” said Henry.
“So are you,” rejoined the girl. Then suddenly she laughed—a little silvery peal, like far-off bells at sunset, Henry thought. “How silly of us. Let’s go ashore,” she added.
“Let’s,” said Henry. “Let me help you.” He put his hand upon her arm; her dress was wet and cold, but the touch made him tremble.