“Thave me!” wailed Tommy.

“We ought to leave you,” flung back Margery.  “What’s the matter?  Can’t you swim?”

“Yeth.  But the pitcher can’t.”

Knowing that Tommy could take care of herself in the water, no one went overboard to her rescue.  Harriet flung out a coil of rope.

“Grab it!” she commanded.  Tommy needed no second invitation to do so.  She grasped the rope with one hand, still clinging to the pitcher with the other and holding it above the water.  In this position Harriet drew her in.  The pitcher was rescued before they helped the little girl to the deck.

“Ith thupper ready?” demanded Tommy, after getting aboard.

“Yes, it is and it’s getting cold,” answered Harriet.

“Then I gueth I’ll thit down and eat.”

“Not until you get off those wet clothes,” answered Jane.  “How did you come to fall overboard?”

“I—­I wath trying to walk on the railing,” explained the girl lamely.  “I thtubbed my toe and fell in.”

“Oh, help!” moaned Margery.  Tommy shot a threatening look at her.

“I can thwim.  Buthter ith too fat to thwim.”  With that parting shot, Tommy hastened inside the cabin and proceeded to change her wet clothing for dry garments.  The other girls sat down to their supper, without waiting for her.

None of them, ever had eaten a meal under quite such novel conditions.  Through the open door at one end they could see the lake, touched with the gorgeous red and gold of the setting sun.  A pleasant breeze was drifting through the cabin from door and window, while the slight motion of the boat rather added to than took from the keen enjoyment of the hour.

“I have been wondering what we shall do in case the water gets really rough?” said Jane.

“We shall have to put something on the table to keep the dishes from sliding off,” replied Harriet.

“That would be like an ocean steamer.  On the tables there they have racks, strips running the full length of the table—­usually brass—­and others standing on edge at right angles to them.  This leaves squares about the size of a plate and the strips keep the dishes from sliding off the table.  They are called racks by the passengers.  Among sailors they are known as ‘fiddles,’” explained the guardian.

“Yeth, but the thoup will thpill over jutht the thame,” observed Tommy from the cabin.

“Your soup will not, for I’m going to eat it,” jeered Margery.

Tommy hurried forth, fastening her collar as she walked.  She was taking no chances of losing her supper.

“Speaking of food,” reflected Harriet.  “Why can’t we take our meats and other perishable things and put them in a pail which we can weight down until it sinks?  That will keep the food cool.”

“Yes.  But what will you do with it when the boat is moving?” asked the guardian.

“If I have to row the small boat, and pull the ‘Red Rover,’ it won’t move fast enough to harm the pail,” spoke up Jane.  “Do we have to drag this tub all over the lake?”