orge or to her
father's tiny landing.

"Can't get any fancy price for the fish at Meade's," thought Polly. "I
have a good mind to put them in our trap and try again for Braisely Park
to-morrow morning."

As she spoke she was running outside the horns of the cove. She could
get a clear sweep now of the lake--as far as it could be viewed from the
low eminence of the boat--and she rose up to see it.

"Nobody out but I," she thought. "Ah! all those folk at the end of the
lake ran in when the squall appeared. And the girls and boys over
yonder----"

She was peering now across the lake ahead of the _Coquette's_ nose,
toward the little island where was Cave-in-the-Wood Camp, and at Green
Knoll Camp, where the girls from Denton were staying.

Her face fell as she focused her gaze upon the bit of high, green bank
on which the sun was now shining again so brilliantly. She remembered
how badly she had been treated by Bess Lavine only that morning.

"I can't go over there any more," she muttered. "That girl will never
forget--or let the others forget--that father has been accused of being
a thief. It's a shame! A hateful shame! And we're every bit as good as
she is----"

Her gaze dropped to the tumbling wavelets between her and the distant
green hillock. She was about to resume her seat and catch the tiller,
which she had held steady with her knee.

But now her breath left her and for a moment she stood motionless--only
giving to the plunge and jump of the _Coquette_ through the choppy
waves.

"Ah!" she exclaimed again, after a little intake of breath.

There were two round objects rising and falling in the rough water--and
far ahead. They looked like cocoanuts.

But a little to one side was a long, black something--a stick of timber
drifting on the current? No! _An overturned boat._

There was no mistaking the cocoanut-like objects. They were human heads.
Two capsized people were struggling in the lake.

Polly, in thirty seconds, was keenly alive to what she must do. There
was no time lost in bewailing the catastrophe, or wondering about the
identity of the castaways.

Who or whatever they were they must be saved. There was not another boat
on the lake. And the swimmers were too far from land to be observed
under any conditions.

The wind was strong and steady. The wavelets were still choppy, but
Polly Jarley never thought of a wetting.

Up went the sail--up, up, up until the unhelmed catboat lay over almost