CHAPTER XI.
"I know a lake where the cool waves break, And softly fall on the silver sand, And no stranger intrudes on that solitude, And no voices but ours disturb the strand." IRISH SONG The breeze had sprung up, and had already brought the fire down as far as the creek.

The swamp had long been on fire, and now the flames were leaping among the decayed timbers, roaring and crackling among the pines, and rushing to the tops of the cedars, springing from heap to heap of the fallen branches, and filling the air with dense volumes of black and suffocating smoke.

So quickly did the flames advance that Hector and Louis had only time to push off the canoe before the heights along the shore were wrapped in smoke and fire.

Many a giant oak and noble pine fell crashing to the earth, sending up showers of red sparks, as its burning trunk shivered in its fall.

Glad to escape from the suffocating vapour, the boys quickly paddled out to the island, enjoying the cool, fresh air of the lake.