third she shipped a whole bucketful of water.  As it poured over the deck, little Freddy flung himself backward to escape the drenching, the canoe dipped, Freddy landed full weight on the leeward gunwale—­and they were over.  For the first instant, Hal was conscious of but one thing, that he was being struck through with the chill of the water on top of being in a heat of perspiration with battling the canoe through the waves.  Then he came to the surface to see the canoe, turned turtle, floating bottom up three yards away.  Then a limp mass of brown clothes and brown curls cannoned into him, and reaching out, he grasped Freddy.

“Don’t get scared, kid,” he gasped, spluttering the water out of his throat; “keep cool and don’t clutch me too tight.”  He might as well have spoken to the winds, for little Freddy, chilled through and terror-stricken, was clinging to him like an octopus, impeding his arm and leg action, and almost choking the breath out of his lungs.  “Oh, Hal, we’re in mid-stream!” gulped the child; “we’ll be drowned!”

“Not on your life, kiddie!” spluttered Hal.  “I’ll get that bally canoe.  Only don’t hold on around my neck, that’s a good kiddie.  There, that’s better,” as Freddy loosened his fingers from Hal’s shirt collar, and the boy struck out with one arm around the child and the other working for all the grit and muscle there was in it.  His magnificent stroke, helped by the wind and current, soon overhauled the canoe.  By a supreme effort he clutched the immersed gunwale.  With one arm around Freddy he could never hope to right the boat, but even bottom up she was a salvation.  “Grip her, kiddie, grip her as I shove you up,” he gasped, “and don’t let go; straddle her and hang on!  Promise me you will hang on,—­promise me!” he cried.

“I’ll promise,” gulped the child.  Then Hal’s powerful arm flung itself upwards, his two hands “boosted,” and Freddy landed on the upturned canoe, gripping it with all fours and coughing the water from his mouth.

Hal made an attempt to climb up, his fingers slipped; then two terrible little demons seemed to grasp the calves of his legs; their fingers ripped the muscles out and tied them into knots, knots that extended to his knees, his hips, his stomach; his fingers weakened with the agony of it—­Hal Bennington knew he was going down with cramps.

Away off to the right he thought he heard a voice; it was saying, “Keep up, Hal, keep up, I’m coming!” but he could not answer.  With a last effort he literally screamed, “Hang on, Freddy, hang on!” Then he felt numb, very numb, and all was dark.

Professor Warwick had gone out to furl the awnings against the rising wind.  His kindly little eyes were peering through their spectacles at sea and sky when suddenly they rested on a frail canoe that was taking an erratic course toward the island.  Instantly he was around at the other side of the cottage.  “Boys, boys,” he shouted frantically, “Quick, get out the sailboat, Hal’s canoe is in danger!”