from the bank, was suspended barely
two feet above the middle of the pool. She leaned forward, and gazed
into its dark depths, which appeared to be scarcely stirred by the
current, though five yards away the stream was making a merry racket
over the shallows.

She stood up, and looked around her. Through the screen of willows and
cottonwoods on each sloping bank she saw the meadows lying green and
silent in the sun. There was no sound except the prattle of the
Brightwater and the murmur of the breeze in the foliage. She assured
herself that she was quite alone.

Next she folded and pinned up her skirt so that it hung just to her
knees, and after a final glance in all directions, stepped cautiously
out to the edge of the driftwood, knelt down on the fallen trunk, and
began to creep warily out toward the embedded hook. The log was round,
and none too large; her knees, protected only by thin stockings, were
bruised by the rough and partly-loosened bark; and she scarcely dared
to breathe lest she should lose her balance, and tumble into the
yawning pool. Once she incautiously looked down, and saw her image
waving dizzily on the slow-moving surface of the water.

"Oh!" she gasped, as she drew back her gaze, and dug her nails into
the log.

But for all her fears, and because of them, it was tremendously
exciting, and she became deeply absorbed in her task. Now clinging
close to the log in sudden panic, now laughing tremulously at her
trepidation, she forgot everything except her goal, and the inches by
which she was approaching it. She had arrived within two feet of the
hook, and was just about to reach a trembling hand to detach it, when
she received a shock that was near to ending her expedition in an
ignominious splash.

"Wait!" called out a voice, somewhere behind her. "I'll help you!"

The fright first nearly caused her to lose her grip on the log, and
then left her cold and shivering. After that a wave of heat swept over
her, and the blood tingled in her flushed and perspiring face.

Who was it? Philip Haig, by all the ill luck in the world? Who else
could have had the effrontery? She dared not turn to look, both in
fear of falling, and in shame at being caught in that absurd
predicament. What a sight! she thought. Her skirt was above her knees,
and one stocking, caught by a projection of bark, had slipped down to
her ankle. And that was not all!... With a desperate effort, she
lifted one hand from its hold on