She slowed up, to gather some water lilies.  “I’ll take them to Cologne,” she thought.  “I wonder where the girls are?  I suppose scouring the country for me.  Well, Tavia must have been found, at any rate.  Poor foolish Tavia!  I hope they have not blamed her.”

A gentle swish of the water startled her.  She turned to see two canoes approaching!

“Are they after me?” she thought, and her heart jumped.  “I must have some excuse ready if they question me.  I will just say I am from Camp Capital, and have come out for exercise.  They may not know how far away our camp is.”

She heard the other paddles in the lake.  Then they ceased to cut the water.  On either side of her canoe the two other craft suddenly appeared.

“What if this boat is marked!” she thought.  “If it should have some lettering to show it is from the sanitarium!”

That was the first time this had occurred to her.  But the canoeists were now actually looking very pleasantly at her—­two young men.  They seemed too well-mannered to speak, and Dorothy wanted so much to speak with them, now that she felt they had no idea of her predicament.

Finally one said:  “We beg your pardon, but might you have a bit of canvas, that you could let us take?  We have a small leak in the side of this canoe and the water is coming in.”

Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief.  Then she looked about her boat—­although she knew it was quite empty when she slid it into the water.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied.  “I never carry anything for such an emergency.”

“It’s a delightful morning,” said the other young man, out of pure civility.  “Have you been out long?”

“Oh, no, not very—­that is, it does not seem long to me,” stammered Dorothy still afraid that she would be caught in some new trap.  “I love the water.”

“You seem to,” agreed the young man with the college cap.  “We have been out with a searching party.  Have you heard of the strange disappearance of two young girls?”

Dorothy gasped.  “Two?” she repeated.

“I suppose we ought to say three, since one from a sanitarium has not yet been discovered.  But the insane, they say, have some weird manner of attracting self preservation.”

“Have they been dragging the lake?” asked Dorothy, her voice all a-tremble.

“No, not yet, although many have wanted to.  But we have so many people lost in these woods every summer, that we feel it is a case of that kind.  We suppose the girls, who did not go off together, met later somehow, and in trying to make their way back, got deeper into the woods.”

“And their folks from camp?” asked Dorothy.

“We have not been to see them,” said the young man, “but some of the boys there are friends of ours, and as soon as we have looked this place over, as well as we can do it, we are going up to Everglade.  The girl’s father is an old soldier, and they say he is still a soldier in this trouble.”