The girls had been as far as this island before in their canoes; but never beyond. From this spot on the journey up the Wintinooski would be all new to Wyn Mallory and her chums. The canoes were hauled up out of the water and the boys skirmished for fuel while the girls got out the luncheon. Ferd Roberts was fire-builder, and Grace, who hated that work, watched him closely, marveling how quickly and well he constructed the pyre and had a blaze merrily dancing among the sticks. "Doesn't that beat all!" cried Grace. "You must love fires as much as Nero did." "Nero? Let's see--he was the chap that always was cold; wasn't he?" queried Ferd, grinning. "Nope!" broke in Frank. "That was Zero. You _will_ get your ancient history mixed, Ferd!" The luncheon was quickly laid, and Tubby was not the only one who did it justice. But Bessie Lavine continued to act disagreeably toward the boys. She was "forever nagging," as Dave said; and sometimes there was a spark of fire when she managed to get one or another of the boys "mad." Professor Skillings wandered off with his bag and little geological hammer and Tubby rolled over on his back under a shady bush and went to sleep. "Pig!" ejaculated Bess, in disgust. "That's all boys think of--their stomachs." "Oh, don't be so hateful, Bess," advised Frank. "Come on; the rest of us are going to walk around a little to settle our luncheon, before tackling the paddles again." "Humph! with the boys?" snapped Bess, seeing Wyn start off with Dave by her side. "Not me, thank you!" "All right," chuckled Frank Cameron. "You can keep Tubby company." But that suggestion made Bess even more angry, and she went off with her nose in the air, and all alone. But as the crowd of young folk came around the east end of Ware Island, they, saw Bess standing upon the brink of a steep bank, under a small tree, where the water had washed out a good deal of the earth in a sort of cave beneath where she stood. "Hi, Bessie! get back from there!" shouted Dave, warningly. "That place is likely to cave in." "Then you certainly _would_ get a ducking," added Frank. "Pooh! I guess I know what I'm about," said the girl. "I'm no baby." "You're acting like one," growled Dave. "That place is dangerous." "It's not, Mr. Smartie!" cried Bess, and she stamped her foot in anger. And just as though that had been the signal for which it had been waiting, several square yards of the steep bank, with the tree she was clinging to, slumped down into the river. The girls screamed, while the boys bounded forward toward the spot where Bessie had disappeared. "Oh, Dave!" cried Wyn. "Save her! save her! She can't swim very well. She will be drowned!" CHAPTER VII THE STORM BREAKS