Erminie stumbled and almost fell; rose pluckily before Billy could reach her; tried again; fell prone the next time, and was not quite on her feet when he came.
“Erminie, you can’t stand this. We’ll have to give it up. It’s so dark anyway with the moon hidden that if there was a path we’d likely miss it.”
“What then, Billy? We can’t give up trying.”
“Suppose we try the shore again. Perhaps we can make it that way to some house.”
She agreed, and they went to the water’s edge and started north. But their progress was stopped by the very promontory from which, high above, they had looked out on the moonlit lake. The bank rose perpendicularly from the water, which was deep here; and the only way to proceed was to climb back to the cleared space and down on the other side, a course they had already proved unfeasible.
Next they tried the southern way. Unlike the shores of salt water, there was no beach to be bared by lowering tides; and they could only pick their way along shore at the edges of the same dense growth as above, a growth that in spots even trespassed on the water.
They succeeded in going some distance; and once were cheered by discovering an unmistakable path; but when they had followed it a little distance it grew less plain, and broke into half a dozen blind trails which all ended in the blank wall of green.
They tried one or two of these, their courage and Erminie’s strength growing less with each effort.
“What made trails like these, I wonder?” Billy asked, half to himself.
“Could they be deer trails? There were ever so many on the island years ago; dad used to come here to hunt.”