, observing it, he immediately started to drag the
logs he had collected down to the water's edge, careless now if Bela
discovered what he was about. Let her try to stop him if she dared!

Building a raft promised to be no easy task. He was without hammer and
nails, and he had not been long enough in the country to learn how it
might be done without. His only tool was a pocket knife.

After several fruitless experiments, he hit upon the scheme of lashing
the logs together with withes of willow. It promised to be an all-day
job, and a clumsy one at the best. Still, if the wind held fair and
light, it might serve. Raising a mast presented another problem. He
deferred consideration of that until he got the raft built.

After a while Bela appeared around the shore, bringing his breakfast.
Sam essayed taking a leaf out of her book by making believe to be
oblivious of her. She put the plate down and watched him for a while.
Sam, under her gaze, became horribly conscious of the crudeness of his
handiwork, but he worked ahead, whistling.

Finally she said scornfully: "You can't get to shore on that."

No answer from Sam.

"When you sit down, her bend in the middle. Water come over you. Raft
got be hard lak a floor."

Another silence.

"W'en wind blow she all bus' up."

No answer being forthcoming, Bela shrugged and sat down in the sand as
if she meant to spend the morning there. She gazed across the lake.
Sam scowled and fidgeted. Something told him that when it came to
holding one's tongue, Bela could beat him hollow. He worked doggedly
on, careful never to look in her direction.

After a while the astonishing girl rose and said calmly: "I tak you to
shore in my canoe now."

Sam dropped his willow strips and stared. "Eh?"

"I say I ready tak you to shore now," she repeated.

"What does this mean?" Sam demanded.

She shrugged slightly. "Ask no question. Come, if you want."

"To what shore?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Anywhere. Better go to little river, I guess. Wind blow us there
to-day. Maybe blow hard after."

"What are you up to now?" he muttered.

She had already turned up the beach. "I go get ready," she said over
her shoulder. "Better come quick."

She disappeared around the shore, leaving him much perturbed in mind.
In a minute or two he stole after to see if she were indeed getting
ready. It was true. Watching from behind the willows, he saw her tie a
poplar pole in the bow of the dugout and st