Dorothy was right in her surmise.  So reasonable did it seem that she had passed out by the front gate, when the guards came to the rescue of those in danger from the frightened horse, that no one thought of looking at the rear of the institution.

“I wonder where I am going?” she thought.  “Perhaps this river runs into a dangerous rapid.  I have always heard that Maine waters are full of surprises.”

“At any rate, this is lovely,” she went on musingly, “and, somehow, I feel that I will get back to camp before nightfall.”

The water was as smooth as glass, and in the sunshine that every moment became more insistant, Dorothy, in her linen dress, paddled away with all the skill she had acquired in dear old Glenwood School lake.  She had discarded the nurse’s cap, and the coat, and as her own suit was beneath the linen, she was only waiting for an opportunity to discard the skirt.

“It pulls,” she thought.  “I might as well drop it now.”

At this she stood up in the canoe very cautiously, and with one move of her hand dropped the skirt into the bottom of the boat.  “There, that’s more like paddling,” she thought.

Adjusting herself again, she picked up the blade and plied it through the clear water.

Suddenly the report of a gun startled her!  Was it at her that the shot had been fired?

Glancing over at the bank she saw something fall.

Could some person have been shot?  The season for shooting was not opened, but perhaps——­

Then her alarm subsided.  A man, who looked like an Indian, or a lumberman, was pulling at something—­it was a beautiful young deer!

Indignation filled her heart.  But what could she do?  Alone on that water, and that man so near with his gun!

Fortunately, he was so interested in looking at his game that he thought it not worth while to look at whoever might be passing in the skiff; so, once more, Dorothy slid out of danger down the placid stream.

In all her trouble she had kept the little watch and her compass, and just now it occurred to her that by consulting the magnetic instrument she could tell whether she was going in the direction of Everglade.

She paused in her action to look at the trembling needle.

“Yes, I am going toward camp—­due east.”

How lightly she paddled along!  It seemed now that the sanitarium was past finding, for the noise of the bell and the whistle had ceased, and that everything, even the talking of the man to himself as he pulled the deer over his shoulders, was gone, and Dorothy was all alone on the delightful lake, moving toward camp.  It all seemed like some horrible dream—­all but the thought that she was going back—­back to her dear ones, who must be so anxious.

“I hope I have saved poor Miss Bell,” she thought.  “That girl seemed to dread something more than the mere mistake in taking me in instead of the other patient.”