“What!”

Dan and Alf and Gerald leaped to their feet and ran to the bank. Then they looked at each other in blank dismay. Below them the wet sand still showed where the canoes had rested, but the canoes themselves had utterly vanished. Tom sauntered up, his hands in his pockets, whistling softly.

“It really is a beautiful view from here,” he murmured. Alf turned on him irritably.

“Tom, don’t be an absolute fool, will you?” he begged.

“That’s right, cut out the humor for a minute,” Dan agreed. “There isn’t anything especially funny about having to walk all the way home!”

“Thought we were going to float,” said Tom with a grin. They turned from him in impatient disgust, Alf muttering things uncomplimentary to his friend’s mental condition.

[174]

“I don’t see—” began Dan.

“Oh, it’s plain enough,” Alf cut in. “They weren’t drawn up very far and when Gerald got in them he pushed them off a little and the wind did the rest. They’re probably out in the sound by this time.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Gerald humbly.

“Oh, it wasn’t your fault,” answered Alf. “We ought to have drawn them up farther. I never thought about the wind.”

“Nor I,” said Dan.

“If you’d taken my advice and camped on the other side,” observed Tom sweetly, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You be blowed! But, see here, Alf; the wind may have blown them ashore on the other bank lower down.”

“Wouldn’t help us much,” replied Alf. “But we might go down a ways and see if we can find them.”

“If we do find them I’ll swim over and get them,” said Dan, as they went along the bank.

“Indeed you won’t! You’d catch cold a day like this. But I would like to be sure that they haven’t gone sailing out to sea.”

They went on silently and dejectedly for nearly a quarter of a mile. There their farther progress[175] was barred by a small stream which flowed into the river from the marsh.

“We might get across this by wading,” said Dan, “but there are any number more of them.”

The canoes were not in sight, although from where they had halted they could see both banks of the river as far as the next turn, an eighth of a mile below.

“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Alf.

“Walk home,” answered Dan. “It’s about six miles, though, the way we’ll have to go, for we’ll have to make a circle around the marsh and hit the Broadwood road somewhere beyond the Cider Mill. Even so, we’re in for wet feet.”

“If we were only on the other side,” mourned Gerald.

“That would be a cinch,” said Dan.

“‘Over on the Jersey side,’” hummed Tom. “Look here, six miles may appeal to you chaps, but it likes me not.”

“Well,” inquired Alf belligerently, “what do you propose, Mr. Fixit?”

“I propose, Mr. Grouch, that we walk up the river instead of down.”

“That’s so,” agreed Dan. “There’s a bridge about a mile and a half up there. That would[176] make it only about four miles and a half to school instead of six.”

“And six is a most optimistic calculation of the other route,” added Tom. “I’ll bet it’s nearer seven.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any place in this old stream where we could ford it, is there?” asked Alf, looking wrathfully at the river.

“Guess not. You know we can go in canoes up as far as the old coal wharf, and that’s a good four miles above here.”

“We might swim it,” said Gerald.

“Yes, and get our clothes wet and have pneumonia,” responded Alf. “I guess not. Come on, then; we’ll foot it to the bridge.”

“Well, let’s do something. I’m getting frozen.” And Dan led the way back along the edge of the river. When they had reached their picnic site they stood for a moment around the dwindling fire and warmed their chilled bodies.

“Let’s leave these things here,” suggested Tom, “and come up for them to-morrow.”

“You can leave your rug if you want to,” replied Alf, “but I prefer to take mine along. I don’t care to lose it; it cost money.”

“That’s different, of course,” answered Tom cheerfully. “They gave me mine with a pair of[177] suspenders. Nevertheless I cherish it deeply and will e’en bear it with me.”

“They may keep us from freezing to death before we get home,” said Dan morosely.

“Oh, you won’t be cold by the time you reach the bridge,” answered Tom. “All ready? Who’s got the pesky glasses? You, Gerald? Give them to me and I’ll stick ’em in my pockets. That’s all right. Now, then, the bridge party will proceed.”

It was a rather silent quartet that tramped along the river bank in the wind. Luckily they were leaving the marshes behind, and, although they did get their feet wet more than once, they encountered no streams. The mile and a half seemed nearer three, but that was no doubt due to the fact that they had to stumble through bushes and briars and force their way through thickets.

“Was that one of the school canoes you had?” asked Alf once.

“Yes,” Dan replied sadly. “How much will they charge me for it, do you think?”

“About twenty-five, I guess. Maybe it will be found, though.”

“Gee, I hope so! You had your own, didn’t you?”

[178]

“Yes, mine and Tom’s. I don’t care so much, about that, though; I daresay I wouldn’t have used it much more, anyway.”

“Let it go,” said Tom cheerfully. “It has played us false.”

“You’re a queer dub,” said Dan, turning to him with a smile. “Most of the time you don’t open your mouth. To-day you’re real sort of chatty. Adversity seems to agree with you, Tom.”

“Oh, it isn’t that,” was the reply. “It’s the picnic. Picnics always make me bright and sunny. I’m crazy about them and don’t know when I’ve ever enjoyed one more. You—you get so close to Nature, don’t you?”

“You surely do,” answered Dan, stumbling over a blackberry runner and picking himself up again. “Too close!”

“There’s the bridge!” cried Gerald from the end of the procession.

“............