When she reached The Camp, Arthur was at the float to meet her.

"Phyllis and Herring haven't come back," he said. "Lee says they went fishing. Do you know where they went?"

"I don't. And they ought to have been back hours ago."

"Yes," said Arthur, "and we're all starting out to look for them. Care to come with me?"

"Yes," she said; "I've got to do something."

Something in her voice took his mind from the more imminent matter.

"What's wrong, Gay?"

She shook her head.

"Nothing. Let's start. If Phyl rowed, they must have gone to the nearest possible fishing grounds."

At this moment Sam Langham came puffing down from Cook House. He was dressed in white flannels and carried a revolver.

"It's to signal with," he explained. "I'm going to try Loon Brook, because it's the only brook I know when I see it."

"Bullard's gone to Loon Brook."

"Pshaw—can't I ever be of any use!"

"Good Lord," said Gay, "look!"

There came around the nearest bend a man rowing one guide boat and towing another, which was empty. Arthur called to him in a loud, hoarse voice:

"Where'd you find that boat?"

"Up Swamp Brook," came the answer.

Arthur and Gay went gray as ashes.

"Who's to tell Mary?" said Arthur presently.

Then Sam Langham spoke.

"If you don't mind," he said, "I think I will."

An hour later the entire male population of The Camp was dragging Swamp Brook for what they so dreaded to find.

Chapter XV

*

It wasn't all discouragement. For now and then it seemed as if the swamp was going to have a shore of dry land. At such times Herring would exclaim:

"There you see! It had never been done before, and now it's been done, and we've done it."

And then it would seem to Phyllis as if a great weight of fear and anxiety had been lifted from her.

But the shore of the swamp always turned out to be an illusion. Once Herring, firmly situated as he believed, went suddenly through a crust of sphagnum moss and was immersed to the arm-pits. For some moments he struggled grimly to extricate himself, and only sank the deeper. Then he turned to Phyllis a face whimsical in spite of its gravity and pallor, and said: "If you have never saved a man's life, now is your chance. I'm afraid I can't get out without help."

It was then that her phenomenally strong little hands and wrists stood them both in good stead. The arches of her feet against a submerged root of white cedar, she so pulled and tugged, and exhorted Herring to struggle free, that at last he came out of that pocket quagmire and lay exhausted in the ooze at her feet.

He was incased from neck to foot in a smooth coating of brown slime. Presently he rolled over on his back and looked up at her.

"There you see!" he said. "You'd never saved a man's life before, and now you've done it. Please accept my sincere expressions of envy and gratitude— Why, you're crying!"