Chapter Five.
There were signs that the winter was about to begin. Snow-storms had appeared from over the hill and swept across the lake. Ice had formed around the edges in shallow pools, but the hot sun had come out and completely thawed it. Often among the pine woods the heat was excessive. Had it not been for the rich growing tints of the trees which fringed the lake and covered its islets, it would have been difficult to suppose that summer had passed away. There were the bright reds and yellows of the maple, the pale straw-colour of the beech, the copper hues of the oaks; and, indeed, Sophy found that she could exhaust all the brightest colours of her paint-box, and yet not give sufficient variety or brilliancy to portray correctly the gorgeous tints of the landscape spread out before the window; nor was there blue to be found equal to the blue of the lake, still less of the sky above it. She was glad that she had finished her drawing in time, for a strong north wind sprang up, and a sharp frost sent every leaf, pinched off, flying away, and the next morning a few only hanging to dead boughs gave a somewhat warm tinge to the otherwise dark green and dark brown appearance of the lake shore.
“Excellent! it would give my dear people at home some idea of the beauties we have out here,” exclaimed D’Arcy, who happened to look in the day Sophy had finished her sketch. “I should be so thankful if you could make a copy for me; still more so if I might aspire to possess the original.”
“What could have made Sophy blush so just now?” said Charley to Agnes, after D’Arcy had taken his leave. “There the dear thing stands looking at the lake: what a wonder to see her doing nothing.”
D’Arcy leaped gaily into his boat, hoisted the main-sail, a large one for her size, cast off the painter, and hauling aft the main-sheet as she paid-off with the fore-sail, waved an adieu to his friends on shore. The lake sparkled brightly as miniature waves curled over its surface; faster and faster the boat flew amid them, seeming to delight in her freedom. The breeze freshened; a black cloud came up along the course of the river from Lake Huron; it rushed across the sky, followed by others, casting a shadow over the lake. A shriek from Sophy made Philip rush out from his workshop, saw in hand, followed by Harry. The white sail of D’Arcy’s boat had disappeared, and a dark mass was alone visible on the spot where she had been.
“He is a good swimmer, and will have got upon the bottom,” cried Philip; but his heart misgave him, for the cold wind had made D’Arcy put on his thick coat and heavy boots; Harry ran towards their large boat. The sails and oars were on shore. “No, no,—the canoe!” cried Philip. An Indian hunter, a friend of D’Arcy’s, had left his canoe on the beach in the morning. The paddles were in her. To launch her and step gingerly in was the work of an instant; and fast as Philip and Harry could ply their paddles, the light canoe flew across the lake.
The rest of the family were soon on the shore; Mr Ashton, who saw the danger to which his sons were exposed in their eagerness to save their friend, watching their progress with the greatest anxiety. He unfortunately did not understand the management of a boat as did his sons; nor did Peter, or he would have gone after them. The canoe tossed up and down, apparently scarcely able to buffet with even the small waves, to the lashing of which she was exposed. Still Philip and Harry bravely pursued their course, their eyes straining a-head, and utterly regardless of the danger they themselves were running.
“Phil, can you see him?” cried Harry. “I think I do. Yes, surely, there’s something moving on the boat’s keel.”
“Yes, I hope so: he’s lying his length along it; he could not sit up,” answered Philip. “How bitterly cold the wind blows out here.”