It was only a few steps to the dry beach. The girl shook her skirts and sat down in the grass, shivering a little. Henry took off his coat instantly. It was quite dry, and he wrapped it around her shoulders. The girl smiled at him gratefully.
“What a silly thing! I got down there at the end of the lake, and when the wind came up stronger I couldn’t get back. You can’t hold it up against the wind when you’re alone, you know.”
Henry didn’t know exactly, but he nodded confidently.
The girl took off her little slippers and emptied the water out of them.
“I live about a mile beyond the point—on this side.” She pointed down the lake. “I don’t know how I’m going to get home—I’d hate to walk out in the road looking like this.” She glanced ruefully at the clinging wetness of her filmy dress. “And I wouldn’t want to leave the canoe here anyway.”
“You mustn’t trust yourself on that water again to-night,” said Henry. And something made him add doggedly: “I won’t let you do that.”
“I couldn’t make it alone across that wind,” said the girl. “But I could easily if”—she hesitated—“if you’d paddle down with me. Would you mind?”
Henry’s heart almost stopped beating.
“It’s easy enough for two,” the girl went on, “when the bow’s not up in the air—and there’s an extra paddle. The wind’s letting up anyway. If it wouldn’t be troubling you too much—it isn’t far by water.”
“No—I mean yes—of course I will,” said Henry.