The girl stood up. “I’m cold—good gracious, look at that canoe; we’ll have to empty it out.”
Together they lifted the canoe. The water came spilling out of Henry’s end, wetting him still more, and they both laughed. Then his coat slipped off her shoulders into the lake, and again they both laughed.
“Dog-gone it, I didn’t want that coat to get wet,” said Henry ruefully. A wonderful feeling of comradeship had sprung up within him; he almost forgot his apprehensions of the coming canoe ride.
“I’m sorry,” laughed the girl, rescuing the coat.
“I mean I wanted to keep it dry so—so you wouldn’t be cold,” Henry explained.
“Oh,” said the girl, and smiled. And again Henry remembered afterward that her lashes had fallen shyly; and he was sure that in the moonlight he had seen the flush that came to her cheeks.
“I’ll sit in the bow,” said the girl when they were ready.
They pointed the canoe out into the lake. The wind had gone down considerably, and the little waves were perceptibly less high. At the girl’s direction Henry steadied the canoe while she climbed its length and sat down on the bow seat with her back to him. Then he drew a long breath and waded recklessly a few steps into the lake, pushing the canoe in front of him. Then somehow he managed to clamber into it.
The canoe rocked violently, but did not overturn. He sat erect and rigid upon the stern seat holding his breath, the little paddle gripped tightly in his hand.
“I’ll paddle on the left, if you don’t mind,” said the girl. “I’m tired of the other side.”