It was half-past eleven when the barges backed out of the boat-house. Paul was seated in the stern-sheets of the Marian. He had not yet been trained to pull with the crew, though he would have gladly taken an oar. On the present occasion his mission related to business. While they were at breakfast, Lily had spoken to him about a valise she had been obliged to leave at the house of her former employer in Westport. Paul had promised to get it when he could. The Marian led the way down the creek into the river, and then out into the lake. The other barges followed at a respectful distance, and their crews did not seem to be inclined to engage in any scrub races. The speed of the eight-oar boat had not yet been tested, and it had always been taken for granted that either of the other barges could beat her without half trying. But it was no time to indulge in a race when the water was so rough. The waves were dashing smartly over the point at the mouth of Beaver River, and the bow of the Marian was lifted up in the air as she plunged in among the white-caps. Dick Short got the hang of the waves as soon as they struck the boat. Paul thought it was about as rough a time as he had ever seen on the lake during the season of navigation; but he had never been in the barge before, and everything was new to him. "By the big wooden spoon!" exclaimed the passenger, when the Marian was in the thickest of the miniature billows, and the water was occasionally slopping in over the bow. "Don't you expect you will all get drowned?" "You can't tell about that," replied the coxswain, who felt as much at home in the boat as he would in the school-room. "We are not prophets, and we can't tell what is going to happen." "Don't you think it is dangerous to come out here when the lake is boiling after this sort?" asked Paul, as he looked at the angry waves around him. "I suppose it is. There is always water enough in the lake to drown the whole of us," answered Dick Short, who was rather inclined to work upon the fears of a timid voyager. "Then what do you come out here for?" "For fun." "Is there any fun in being drowned, Dick Short?" asked Paul seriously, as he glanced at Dory, whose face was as calm as the minister's on Sunday. "Any fun in being drowned? How should I know? I never tried it," returned the coxswain. "But don't you think it is dangerous to be out here in such a blow?" Paul insisted; and he really believed he was in peril. "Of course it is." "Then don't you think you had better put back into the river?" "But it is dangerous in there," added Dick. "Suppose a tree should blow down and kill every fellow in the boat? Suppose the sea-serpent should be having a vacation up Beaver River, and take it into his head to swallow us all, one at a time? Suppose the river should catch fire and burn us all up? Suppose the sky should fall, as Chicken Little said it would, and smash us all to jelly?" "You are making fun of me, Dick," said Paul, laughing.