The sun scarcely shone, and the big gray-black clouds were piling up ominously overhead. Below, a strange murky glow spread far out on either hand. The wind drove down the lake in sudden warning gusts. Flock after flock of ducks came hurtling down from the northward before the gale. She heard the crack of Palmer's gun, and with a start she came suddenly to herself. She laughed half defiantly. "I believe he's right, after all," she murmured. "Everything is chance, and for once it's on our side. Half an hour more, and they couldn't get across, and we couldn't get back. Nothing could be better. We won't need to use any of the second strings now." With a glance at the progress of the supper, she relit the lamp and stepped into one of the little bedrooms. "Altogether too pale," she frowned, as she glanced in the mirror. "But that's easily remedied. He isn't the observant kind, evidently." From the closet she took down an evening gown of black velvet, glancing somewhat dubiously at the low neck and short sleeves. "It's a question, even now," she muttered thoughtfully. "He may think it's a queer rig for a country girl, and get wise, but I don't really think so. It's worth the risk, anyway. Men are such fools. It seems a shame." Half an hour more and darkness had fallen over the island. Outside the northeaster roared in rising wrath. Within the fire blazed cheerily, and the soft lamplight cast a pleasant charm over the cozy room. Suddenly her heart beat quicker as she heard Palmer's footsteps. An instant, and he entered, buffeted and beaten by the gale, staggering under a load of ducks. "Well, what do you think of this?" he cried. "Ducks! No end of 'em. Gordon missed the time of his life. But what do you think about it? They can't get across to us, can they?" The girl shook her head. "No, not possibly," she answered, "and what's worse, we can't get across to them." Just for a moment Palmer looked grave. Then he laughed boisterously. "Well, this is a go!" he cried; "I never thought I'd come to play Robinson Crusoe. I suppose we must just make the best of it. How about that supper? By Jove, you look as if you'd been working." The girl laughed, glancing down at the blue checked apron that enveloped her from head to foot. "Supper," she echoed, "the sportsman's first thought. Well, it's all right excepting the ducks; I have them prepared, and I'll give you exactly eleven minutes to get ready in. That was Dick's last word on cooking them. Eleven minutes, provided the oven was right, and I believe it's perfect." She deftly cleared the table of the two useless places, slipped the much talked of ducks into the oven, and brought two bottles of champagne from the ice box. At the end of the allotted time Palmer appeared, and the girl placed the smoking meal on the table. Then she glanced at him, smiling.