This seemed to be the only thing to do, and as the duck continued to swim directly towards us we both began to shout and wave our arms about in what must have appeared to Shin Shira a perfectly mad fashion.

The noise, however, seemed to have the desired effect, for the duck paused, looked at us in a puzzled manner for a moment, and then turned tail and began moistening her bill in the water, lifting her head and shaking it after each mouthful, as their habit is.

“I wish she’d get out of the way,” said Lionel anxiously.  “We shall run into her directly, she’s right in our course,” and he began to shout vigorously again, in the hope of startling her.

I added my voice to his, and we both yelled our loudest, with not the slightest effect, however, for the duck continued unconcernedly to enjoy herself in her own fashion in the middle of the lake.  Presently what Lionel had feared came to pass, and with a bump which sent us both off our feet, the yacht was driven straight on to the duck, which gave a terrific “Quack!” and swam off in a hurry.

“Our bowsprit’s broken,” announced Lionel, directly he had recovered his feet, “and it’s fallen in the water and is dragging the sails with it—­and—­look out!” This as a gust of wind filled the mainsail and caused the boat to careen over on to her side in a highly dangerous manner.

“Look out!” and this time another and a stronger gust completed the matter, and the sail touched the water and immediately became saturated, so that the boat could not right itself.

“Well, we shan’t sink, that’s one thing,” I said, for Lionel was looking at me in an alarmed manner.  “The water cannot get into the hull, thanks to there not being a ‘real’ cabin and the hatches only being sham ones.”

“That’s all very well,” said Lionel, though giving a little sigh of relief at my reassuring words, “but we can’t stop here for ever.  I should like to know how we are to get ashore.”

Shin Shira, who had seen our accident, was shouting and gesticulating at the edge of the Pond, but the wind was blowing in his direction and carried the sound of his voice away from us, so that we couldn’t hear a single word of what he was saying.

“I suppose eventually we shall drift ashore,” I said hopefully.

“Yes, but not for hours and hours perhaps,” said Lionel dolefully, “because the wind may change, you know, and besides it’s getting dusk.”

“It certainly isn’t a very pleasant look-out,” I agreed.  “I can’t see what we are to do, unless—­I say! what’s that big box floating towards us?”

Lionel looked in the direction in which I was pointing.

“It’s an empty match-box,” he said uninterestedly; “that’s no good.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said I.  “Try and get hold of it as it drifts this way.  I’ve an idea.”

“I can’t see what good an empty match-box can be to us,” grumbled Lionel, doing his best, however, to aid me in capturing the prize as it blew against the side of the overturned yacht, which we at last did with some difficulty.