At this rate the flat would fill and sink long before it could drift to the lower headland.

Where were the oars?
Left behind at the landing! Anne gave one gasping little scream which nobody ever heard; she was white to the lips, but she did not lose her self-possession.

There was one chance--just one.
"I was horribly frightened," she told Mrs.Allan the next day, "and it seemed like years while the flat was drifting down to the bridge and the water rising in it every moment.

I prayed, Mrs.Allan, most earnestly, but I didn't shut my eyes to pray, for I knew the only way God could save me was to let the flat float close enough to one of the bridge piles for me to climb up on it.

You know the piles are just old tree trunks and there are lots of knots and old branch stubs on them.