“Get her into your boat, Phil—it’s larger,” commanded Mrs. Bonnell. “Then row to shore as fast as you can. We’ll have to practice first aid work, just as we did in class, girls,” she added, for the Camp Fire rules called for a girl knowing how to resuscitate an apparently drowned person. It did not take long to get Natalie into the boat, and then with feverishly rapid strokes Phil rowed to shore, the others following. “Make a little pillow of your coats, boys,” commanded Mrs. Bonnell. “We’ll place that under her, as she lies face down. That will help to drain the water out of her lungs.” The inert form of Natalie was rolled over, until some water did come from her lips. Then, directing the efforts of Jack and Phil, Mrs. Bonnell had them raise the girl’s arms above her head, while she pressed on the diaphragm to facilitate the getting of air into the lungs. Natalie had only been a short time in the water, and, as it developed later, her head had struck on the gunwale of the canoe, rendering her unconscious, so that she had swallowed only a little water. The blow, in a measure, was lucky for her, since it made her rescue easier. She had not struggled in Jack’s grip. “There!” exclaimed Mrs. Bonnell, as a tremor of the white eyelids, and a gentle sigh, told that consciousness was returning. “She’s coming to!” “Ah!” breathed Phil in relief. He had been under a great strain. Natalie opened her eyes. “What happened? Did I— Oh, I remember,” she gasped. “I fell out of the boat. How silly!” “Not at all!” exclaimed Marie. “How do you feel?” “Rather—rather weak,” was the answer. “She ought to have a warm drink,” exclaimed Mabel. “Oh, if we could only make a fire, and heat some coffee!” “We can make a fire,” said Phil, “but the coffee is out of the question. We’d better get back to camp. It was all my fault. I should have looked where I rowed.” “No, I got in the way,” declared Blake. “I should have told Nat to sit down on the bottom of the canoe, instead of on the seat, but she wanted to improve her paddle stroke.” Natalie shivered as she sat up. A little color was beginning to show in her cheeks. “I have it!” cried Jack. “We’re not far from the old mill. I’ll run over there, and get Old Hanson to make some coffee!” “I’ll go!” volunteered Phil, anxious to be of service. “No, let me,” insisted Jack. “I want to get dry and the run will do the trick,” and he was off on a path that led to the mysterious mill. He was lucky in finding Old Hanson in his shack. The solitary man was just starting a fire for supper. The kettle was boiling and, quickly explaining the need, Jack helped make coffee. Then, with a pailful of the steaming beverage, while Hanson came after him with a blanket, the lad hurried back to where the others were.