"Here's where we turn back, I guess," he sighed.
"Oh no! Can't we get across? It's only a couple of feet deep, and gravel bottom," insisted the restored adventurer.
"Yes, but look at the steep bank. Never get up it."
"I don't care. Let's try it! We can woggle around and dig it out somehow. I bet you two-bits we can," said the delicate young woman whom Mrs. Gilson was protecting.
"All right. In she goes!"
The bug went in—shot over the bank, dipped down till the little hood sloped below them as though they were looping the loop, struck the rushing water with a splash which hurled yellow drops over Claire's rose jersey suit, lumbered ahead, struck the farther bank, pawed at it feebly, rose two inches, slipped back, and sat there with the gurgling water all around it, turned into a motor-boat.
"No can do," grunted Milt. "Scared?"
"Nope. Love it! This is a real camp—the brush on the bank, and the stream—listen to it chuckle under the running-board."
"Do you like to camp with me?"
"Love it."