When the motion picture girl fell from the sycamore tree into the water,
some of the members of the company, who sat or stood near by panting after
their hard chase cross-lots, actually laughed at their unfortunate
comrade's predicament.

But that was because they had no idea of the strength and treacherous
nature of the Lumano. At this point the eddies and cross-currents made the
stream more perilous than any similar stretch of water in the State.

"Oh, that silly girl!" shouted Mr. Grimes, the director. "There! she's
spoiled the scene again. I don't know what Hammond was thinking of to send
her up here to work with us.

"Hey, one of you fellows! go and fish her out. And that spoils our chance
of getting the picture to-day. Miss Gray will have to be mollycoddled, and
grandmothered, and what-not. Huh!"

While he scolded, the director scarcely gave a glance to the struggling
girl. The latter had struck out pluckily for the shore when she came up
from her involuntary plunge. After the cry she had uttered as she fell,
she had not made a sound.

To swim with one's clothing all on is not an easy matter at the best of
times. To do this in mid-winter, when the water is icy, is well nigh an
impossibility.

Several of the men of the company, more humane than the director, had
sprung to assist the unfortunate girl; but suddenly the current caught her
and she was swerved from the bank. She was out of reach.