on beam ends. The girl took a sailor's turn of the sheet around the
cleat and then swung all her weight against the tiller, to bring the
boat's head up. She held the sheet ready to let go if a warning creak
from the mast should sound, or the boat refuse to respond.

But in half a minute the _Coquette_ righted. It had been a perilous
chance--she might have torn the stick out. The immediate peril was past,
however. The great canvas filled. Away shot the sprightly
_Coquette_ with the wind--a bone in her teeth.

Now and then she dipped and the spume flew high, drenching Polly. The
boatman's daughter was not dressed for this rough work, for she was
hatless and wore merely a blouse and old skirt for outside garments. She
had pulled off her shoes and stockings while she fished and had not had
time to put them on again.

So the flying spray wet her through. She dodged occasionally to protect
her eyes from the spoondrift which slatted so sharply across the deck
and into the cockpit. The water gathered in the bottom of the old boat
and was soon ankle-deep.

But Polly knew the craft was tight and that this water could be bailed
out again when she had time. Just now her mind and gaze were fixed
mainly upon the round, bobbing objects ahead.

For some minutes, although the catboat was traveling about as fast as
Polly had ever sailed, save in a power boat, the girl could not be sure
whether the swamped voyagers were girls or boys. It might be two of the
Busters, from Gannet Island, for all she knew. She had made up her mind
that the victims of the accident were from one camp or the other. There
were no other campers as yet on the shore at this end of the lake.

Then Polly realized that the heads belonged to girls. She could see the
braids floating out behind. And she knew that they were fighting for
their lives.

They swam near together; once one of them raised up breast high in the
water, as though looking shoreward. But neither turned back to see if
help was coming from behind.

With both hands engaged with sheet and tiller Polly could not make a
megaphone to carry her voice; but several times she shouted as loud as
she could:

"Ahoy! Hold on! I'm coming!"

Her voice seemed flung right back into her face--drowned by the slatting
spray. How viciously that water stung!

The _Coquette_ was traveling at racing speed; but would she be in
time?

How long could those two girls bear up in the choppy sea?

One of the heads s