t's what Cora Rathmore stuffed into the hole when she
pulled out the plug. She knew the water would soon work them out."

"But where's the plug?" asked Nancy.

"They took it away with them. It's a mean trick!" gasped her chum. "Why,
Nancy! The water is gaining fast. Here we are in the middle of the river
and the skiff will sink under us before we can row to shore!"

CHAPTER XXIV

THE THANKSGIVING MASQUE

Of course, both Jennie and Nancy could swim; but swimming with one's
clothes on, from the middle of Clinton River to the shore, would be no
small feat.

And there wasn't time to throw off much of their clothing, for the skiff
was sinking under them. Once the bunch of rags had been forced out of
the hole where the plug had been, the water spurted in like a miniature
fountain.

The boat began to swing in the current, too. They had both drawn their
oars inboard and the craft drifted at the mercy of the river.

"What _shall_ we do?" gasped Jennie, again. "We're go-ing-right-do-own!"

"Not yet!" cried her chum, tearing off the little coat she wore.

In a moment Nancy doubled up the sleeve and thrust it into the hole in
the bottom of the boat. She forced it in tightly, and as it became wet
and more plastic, she rammed it home hard.

"But that won't last long," objected Jennie.

"The water'll force it out again. And what will we do with the water
that is already in here?"

Indeed, the girls were barely out of the wash of the water, and their
feet and ankles were soaking wet.

They dared not move suddenly, either; the gunwales of the boat were so
low that, if it pitched at all, the river would flow over the sides.

"Why! it will sink any minute and leave us sitting here in the water!"
groaned Jennie, again.

"Take off one of your shoes--careful, now," commanded Nancy. "We can
bail with them," putting into practice her own advice.

They managed each to remove one of the low, rubber-soled shoes they
wore. But these took up so small an amount of water, although they
bailed vigorously, that Jennie began to chuckle:

"Might as well try to dip the sea out with a pail, Nance! What a
ridiculous position we're in!"

But it was really more serious than that. It was fast growing dark, and
no matter how loudly they shouted, their voices would not reach to the
landing. The wind was against them.

On the other side of Clinton River, opposite the scene of their
accident, were open fields and woods. Few people