“Her gunwale is only an inch or so above the surface,” exclaimed Val. “I don’t see how we are ever to bail her.”
There was a terrible whiteness on George Brayton’s face just then, and Effie Dryer must have seen it, for she said to him in a low voice, “I understand. You must leave me and swim ashore. You must save yourself.”
“Never!” he hoarsely replied, but it was a dark moment in the life of George Brayton.
Just then, however, Bar Vernon caught hold of a piece of wood that floated past him.
“Here’s the rudder, Sibyl,” he exclaimed. “Now put that and the oar under your chin. Are you brave enough to float on that? It’ll keep your head above water while I go and help Val.”
“I’ll do anything,” she answered. “Don’t be afraid about me.”
A rare girl was Sibyl Brayton, and in a moment more Bar came swimming to the side of George Brayton with another oar and one of the movable boat-seats.
“There,” he said, “that’ll help you keep her up. Val and I will bail out the boat.”
Nothing but their hats, indeed, to start with, though the water was not so rough now. Still the waves would splash over in, and their work seemed almost hopeless. One inch. Then another!
If their strength and that of George Brayton and the girls would only hold out!