Her graceful outlines now could be
plainly seen and she was swiftly approaching.
"I'm wondering," suggested George thoughtfully, "if we are
tossing around on the water the way she is. Just look at her," he
added excitedly as the yacht in the distance pitched visibly in
the rough water.
"Of course we are," said John, "only worse. A little boat like
the Black Growler is not worth much more than an egg shell."
"Still I think I would rather be in the Black Growler," laughed
George.
The spray continued to dash over the motor-boat and the little
craft was roughly tossed by the passing waves. Fred twice had
rolled from his position on the cushions and fallen upon the
floor. The assistance of his friends had been required to restore
him to his former position. His ghastly appearance by this time
had aroused the sympathies of his companions and besides they
were all three anxious for the safety of the boat as well as of
themselves.
The sun was still shining brightly and there was life in the air
as it swept across the great mass of fresh water. Steadily the
Black Growler had been moving before the wind, which was blowing
directly from the lake. As a result they were able to see more
distinctly the outlines of the shore before them, which now was
not more than two miles distant.
A few minutes had elapsed when George said excitedly, "Do you see
what boat that is?"
His companions did not reply for a brief time and then Grant said
quietly, "It's the Caledonia.
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