ared stiff!"

Bet stopped paddling to laugh at her friend. "Kit Patten, you're the
funniest girl I've ever seen."

Then with long sweeping strokes, _The Arrow_ shot out into the channel,
sending sparkling drops into the air as it cut its way through the
current.

Kit's brown eyes were shining with excitement and the sense of danger
that she imagined was there. "Why, Bet Baxter, this is the most
thrilling thing I've ever done in my life. It's more fun than
horseback riding. It's a perfect day. It was good of you to take me."

The canoe was now headed toward the beach, having reached the quieter
waters of the farther shore, and as soon as the boat touched the sand,
Bet sprang out and with practised hand drew the bow up on the beach.

"Here you are, Kit. Now you've been across the Hudson. It's not often
a person has a chance to have her wishes granted so quickly."

"Isn't it wonderful!" gasped Kit. "I've never had such a gorgeous time
in my life."

The girls stretched themselves out on the sand for a few minutes.

"Doesn't Lynnwood look beautiful over there? And just see how very
romantic the Manor is from here."

"I think we'd better start back at once," exclaimed Bet suddenly.
"It's getting cloudy over that way again, and as we've had a thunder
storm every day for a week, we may have another this afternoon."

They lost no time in getting into the boat, for already there was a
distant peal of thunder. It was miles and miles away, but Bet didn't
intend to take chances. Her hand worked in a steady rhythm that sent
the boat ahead like a flat stone skimming the water.

But as they reached the middle of the river, the wind struck them
suddenly and with violence. It seemed to the girls as if the canoe had
been lifted and turned over. Kit gave a little cry of terror, but
Bet's look of reproach was sufficient. At a signal from Bet, the girl
slid to the bottom of the boat, and remained still.

The storm was upon them. A fierce wind shook the little craft as if a
hand had clutched it.

Bet kept the bow of the boat head-on to the heavy rollers that
threatened to capsize it. The quiet river had suddenly become a
regular sea, choppy and vicious, and Bet strained at the paddle, her
face white and tense.

Kit crouched in the bottom of the boat. She was anxious to help but
did not know what to do. During a little lull she cried: "Oh, Bet,
can't I help? You must be tired. Let me try to paddle, I think