ing behind her, when
suddenly Stanley sprang to his feet, and shouted across the water:

"To the left, Kit--hard to the left, do you hear!"

Instead of obeying without question, Kit turned her head to see what on
earth he was warning her against, and before she could stop herself the
rowboat was caught in an eddy that formed a miniature maelstrom at this
point, from a large sunken tree that fell nearly to midstream from the
shore. The frail rowboat overturned like a crumpled leaf. Kit was
bareheaded and it seemed to Stanley as long as he lived he would never
forget the sight of her upturned face, as it slipped down into the dark,
swirling water. She did not cry out, or even seem to make an attempt to
swim, it all happened so suddenly. There was only the horrible, warm
silence of the drowsy, midsummer landscape, and the dancing, pitching
rowboat, twirling around and around in circles.

It seemed an hour to him before he had plunged into the river, and swam
across to the spot where she had disappeared. The gripping horror was that
she hadn't come up at all. Even before he reached the spot where he had
seen her go under, Stanley dove and swam under water with his eyes open.
The river bottom was a mass of swaying vegetation and gnarled, sunken
roots of old trees. It seemed for the moment like outreaching fingers
clutching upward. He could see the black trunk of the tree, but there was
no sign of Kit until he was fairly upon her, and then he found her, her
dress and hair held fast on the bare branches.

Billie had been in the tent, getting the potatoes on for dinner, and
otherwise performing his duties as assistant camp cook. He had heard
Stanley's voice calling to some one, but had not taken the trouble to look
out until he failed to find a favorite pot on its accustomed hook.
Sticking his head out through the tent flap, he called down to the beach:

"Say, Stan, where's the granite pot with the long handle?" He listened for
an answer but none came, and after a second call he started to
investigate. The sudden complete disappearance of Stanley mystified him.
Their boat lay in its accustomed place on the shore with the oars beside
it, and there were the fish beside the cleaning board just as he had left
them a moment ago.

"Well, I'll be jiggered," muttered Billie when there came a cry across the
river--Stanley calling for help.

Billie could just see him swimming with one long overhand stroke, and
holding up something