Around the point, which formed the bay in which the boat was kept, on the shore, but partly hidden by the trees, was an old, rather dilapidated ice-house; it was called that by courtesy, for it was no house at all; it had no roof—it never had one—but it was used once to store ice in, and the fishing-ground along the shore in front of it had always been designated by the boys as "off the ice-house." Ned and Joe claimed to themselves that they alone knew of the existence of a certain ledge which ran for some distance parallel to the shore, but much farther out than the average fisherman would think of dropping anchor.
As they approached the place, in order to get the right spot to leave the first float, which had a choice fat frog wriggling at the end of the line, Ned slowed down and began to row quietly. He got a certain stump on a point of land in line with the roof of a barn way back on the hill-side, and was watching for the cross-line, a clump of bright willows with a scraggly dead tree some distance behind them.
"Whoa, slowly," said Joe, who was also watching. "There! hold her, and I'll let him go. There, my fine friend," he added, addressing the frog; "good-by to you and good luck to us. Now, a stroke or two: there, let her slide! And to you, Mr. Hoppergrass, good-by, and good-luck." He gently dropped the line over the side, and, so with the others, all had a farewell given them as they were dropped over at intervals. Then the boys rowed on towards Baldwin's Cliff, keeping their eyes on the small floats as they left them bobbing under and over the tiny waves.
About four o'clock Ned and Joe had had enough swimming and diving, and fetching white stones from the bottom; they had been in, as was usually the case, too long, yet both wanted to stay in longer. Nothing had happened, as far as they could see, to their floats, and they felt keenly disappointed. They had hardly noticed that the clouds were gathering over the hills, and that the wind had risen so that little white caps had sprung up, and were dancing in towards shore. But a low mutter of thunder startled them, and they saw now no way but to adopt a means for shelter which they had followed before to keep dry.
"Hurry up, Ned," said Joe; "make for the boat; that storm's a dandy, and coming like thunder, too. It's pouring at the end of the lake already."
The boys put for the boat as hard as they could, and a moment later had her beached and rolled over, and their clothes snugly tucked away under perfect shelter.
"Here she is!" they both cried at the same moment, as the rain started to come down in large noisy drops, and the wind caught the spray from the water and whirled it along in sudden gusts.
"Let her rain," said Joe; "but doesn't that sting your back, it does mine; and that wind's cold, too. I'm going to swim out a way, the water's warmer than here."
So Joe plunged in and swam out from the shore.
Ned watched him as he paddled around in the deep water; he did not exactly like the idea. The whole scene, with the dark lowering clouds, broken now and then by the jagged streaks of lightning, each one followed by a sharp and startling smash and roar, made him shiver, and the large drops and an occasional hailstone made him skip around on the beach. The situation was exciting, though, and Joe, now quite a way out, felt the tingles creep through him. Finally, as Ned was still watching Joe, he saw him start forward with the overhand Indian stroke, making straight for the middle of the lake. He put his hands to his mouth and shouted: