“Oh, it isn’t that,” sobbed Libbie.  “I can’t explain—­but if we go through the woods, I’m sure I shall go crazy.”

“Well, then, that settles it,” said Bob comfortably.  “Better to be drowned than to go crazy.  Can you turn up your sweater collars, girls?  I wish we’d brought some raincoats along.”

Splashing and stumbling, they followed Bob down to the shore and began the weary walk that would lead them back to the school.  After fifteen minutes’ steady walking they came to a dense undergrowth that was impossible to penetrate.

“No use, we’ll have to make a cut through the woods,” announced Bob.  “Up this way and over, ought to bring us out right.”

He was so cheerful and patient that the tired, rain-soaked girls could not do otherwise than follow his example.  Libbie was crying silently, but the others tramped along cheerfully, singing, at Betty’s suggestion, old college and school songs.

“Look here, Bob,” said Tommy Tucker in an undertone, “I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.  Don’t you say it would be better to take the girls to that deserted cabin we found the other day and leave them there while we explore a bit?  They’re getting soaked through, and Libbie Littell is fixing to have hysterics.  Leave a couple of the boys with ’em, so they won’t be afraid, and then we’ll locate the right trail and take ’em over it home in a hurry.”

This suggestion sounded like good, common-sense to Bob, and he said so.

“Betty could walk ten miles and be all right,” he declared proudly, “and I think Bobby is good for a hike, too.  But Frances Martin can’t see when the rain gets on her glasses, and, as you say, something is the matter with Libbie.  So let’s make for the cabin, quick.”

The Salsette boys had explored the woods pretty thoroughly, and on a recent expedition Bob and his chums had stumbled on an old one-room cabin, buried deep in the woods and evidently unoccupied for years.  It was not far from the end of the lake, and toward it they now led the girls, explaining as they went what they intended to do.

“We’ll be all right,” said Betty at once.  “I think if Libbie can sit down and rest she’ll feel better, too.  And if you all want to go and hunt for the trail, you needn’t worry about us.”

“Oh, Sydney and I intend to stay,” Gilbert Lane assured her quickly. (The boys had settled that among themselves.) “We’ll be handy in case any Indians or the like come after you.”

Betty gave him a warning glance, for Libbie looked frightened.  Surely something was wrong with the girl!

The cabin door was open and the interior was comparatively dry.  There was no furniture, but three or four old packing boxes furnished the girls with seats.  Bob and five of his friends disappeared, whistling.  Gilbert and Sydney were investigating the ramshackle fireplace to see what the prospects were for starting a fire when a shriek from Libbie brought them to their feet.