"Grey, Zane - Betty Zane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grey Zane)

but she stepped nimbly aboard without his assistance.

"Wait a moment while I catch some crickets and grasshoppers."

"Gracious! What a fisherman. Don't you know we have had frost?"

"That's so," said Alfred, abashed by her simple remark.

"But you might find some crickets under those logs," said Betty. She laughed
merrily at the awkward spectacle made by Alfred crawling over the ground,
improvising a sort of trap out of his hat, and pouncing down on a poor little
insect.

"Now, get in carefully, and give the canoe a push. There, we are off," she
said, taking up the paddle.

The little bark glided slowly down stream at first hugging the bank as though
reluctant to trust itself to the deeper water, and then gathering headway as a
few gentle strokes of the paddle swerved it into the current. Betty knelt on
one knee and skillfully plied the paddle, using the Indian stroke in which the
paddle was not removed from the water.

"This is great!" exclaimed Alfred, as he leaned back in the bow facing her.
"There is nothing more to be desired. This beautiful clear stream, the air so
fresh, the gold lined banks, the autumn leaves, a guide who--"

"Look," said Betty. "There is the fall over which we must pass."

He looked ahead and saw that they were swiftly approaching two huge stones
that reared themselves high out of the water. They were only a few yards apart
and surrounded by smaller rocks, about high the water rushed white with foam.

"Please do not move!" cried Betty, her eyes shining bright with excitement.

Indeed, the situation was too novel for Alfred to do anything but feel a keen
enjoyment. He had made up his mind that he was sure to get a ducking, but, as
he watched Betty's easy, yet vigorous sweeps with the paddle, and her smiling,
yet resolute lips, he felt reassured. He could see that the fall was not a
great one, only a few feet, but one of those glancing sheets of water like a
mill race, and he well knew that if they struck a stone disaster would be
theirs. Twenty feet above the white-capped wave which marked the fall, Betty
gave a strong forward pull on the paddle, a deep stroke which momentarily
retarded their progress even in that swift current, and then, a short backward
stroke, far under the stern of the canoe, and the little vessel turned
straight, almost in the middle of the course between the two rocks. As she
raised her paddle into the canoe and smiled at the fascinated young man, the
bow dipped, and with that peculiar downward movement, that swift, exhilarating
rush so dearly loved by canoeists, they shot down the smooth incline of water,
were lost for a moment in a white cloud of mist, and in another they coated
into a placid pool.