Ruth took her place as mistress of the little household of Corner House girls--mother to the three parentless sisters who depended so much on her.

"And now, children, for the story!" she said. "What shall it be about?"

This took the attention of Tess and Dot off their worries, and though the wind still howled and the rain dashed against the windows of the _Bluebird_, they heeded it not.

Meanwhile Mr. Howbridge had made his way to the motor room where a sound of hammering on iron told him that efforts to make repairs were under way.

"What is it, boys?" he asked as he saw Neale and Hank busy over the motor.

"A wrench was jarred loose and fell into the flywheel pit," explained Neale. "It stopped the motor suddenly, and until we get it loose we can't move the machinery. We're trying to knock it out."

"Need any help?" asked the lawyer, who had donned an old suit of clothing.

"I think we can manage," said Neale. "But you might take a look outside and see what's happening. That is, besides the storm. We can hear that."

"Yes, it seems to insist on being heard," agreed the guardian of the girls. "You say the anchor is dragging, Neale?"

"No, it's gone completely. At the bottom of the lake somewhere. I didn't have a chance to examine the end of the cable to see if it was cut or not."

"Cut!" exclaimed the lawyer in surprise.

"Well, it may have been cut by--accident," went on Neale, with a meaning look which Mr. Howbridge understood.

"I'll find out," was the comment, and then the lawyer went out into the rain while Neale and the mule driver resumed their labors to loosen the monkey wrench which was jammed under the flywheel, thus effectually preventing the motor from operating.

Mr. Howbridge made his way along the lower deck until he came to where the anchor cable was made fast to the holding cleat. He pulled up the dripping rope, hand over hand, until he had the end on deck.

A lightning flash served to show him that the end was partly cut and partly frayed through.

"It may have chafed on a sunken rock or been partly cut on the edge of something under water," thought the lawyer. "At any rate the anchor is gone, and unless I can bend on a spare one we've got to drift until they can get the motor going. I wonder if I can find a spare anchor. Captain Leed said nothing about one when he turned the boat over to me."

Stumbling about the deck in the rain, storm and darkness, the lawyer sought for a possible spare anchor. Meanwhile Ruth kept up the spirits of her two smallest sisters and Mrs. MacCall by gayly telling stories.

She was a true "little mother," and in this instance she well deserved the appellations of both "Martha" and "Minerva."

Fortunate it was for the Corner House girls that the _Bluebird_ was a staunch craft, broad of beam and stout in her bottom planks. Otherwise she never would have weathered the storm that had her in its grip.

Lake Macopic was subject to these sudden outbursts of the furious elements. It was surrounded by hills, and through the intervening valleys currents of air swept down, lashing the waters into big waves.

Sailing craft are more at the mercy of the wind and water than are power boats, but when these last have lost their ability to progress they are in worse plight than the other craft, being less substantial in build.

But the _Bluebird_ was not exactly of either of these types. In fact the craft on which the Corner House girls were voyaging was merely a big scow with a broad, flat bottom and a superstructure made into the semblance of a house on sh.o.r.e--with limitations, of course. It would be practically impossible to tip over the craft. The worst that could happen, and it would be a sufficient disaster, would be that a hole might be stove in the barge-like hull which would fill, and thus sink the boat. And the lake was deep enough in many places to engulf the _Bluebird_.

Mr. Howbridge realized this as he stumbled about the lower deck, looking for something that would serve as an anchor. He soon came to the conclusion that there was not a spare one on board, for had there been it naturally would have been in plain view to be ready for use in emergencies.

Having made a circuit of the deck, not finding anything that could be used, Mr. Howbridge debated with himself what he had better do next. He stepped into a small storeroom in the stern of the craft above the motor compartment where Neale and Hank were working, and there the lawyer flashed the pocket electric torch he carried. It gave him a view of a heterogeneous collection of articles, and when he saw a heavy piece of iron his eyes lightened.

"This may do for an anchor," he said. "I'll fasten it on the rope and heave it overboard."

But when he tried to move it alone he found it was beyond his strength.

He could almost manage it, but a little more strength was needed.

"I'll have to get Neale or Hank," mused Mr. Howbridge. "But I hate to ask them to stop. The safety of the _Bluebird_ may depend on how quickly they get the motor started. And yet--"

He heard some one approaching along the lower deck and a moment later a flash of lightning revealed to him Ruth.

"I heard some one in here," said the Corner House girl, "and I came to see who it was. I thought maybe the door had blown open and was banging."

"I was looking for an anchor, and I have found one, though I can't move it alone," the lawyer said. "But why have you left your sisters?"

"Because Mrs. Mac is telling them a Scotch story. She has managed to interest them, and, at the same time, she is forgetting her own troubles. So I came out. Let me help move the anchor, or whatever it is."

"Spoken like Martha!" said Mr. Howbridge. "Well, perhaps your added strength will be just what is needed. But you must be careful not to strain yourself," he added, anxiously.

"I am no baby!" exclaimed Ruth. "I want to help! Where is it?"

Flashing his light again, her guardian showed her, and then, while the wind seemed to howl in fiercer fury, if that were possible, and while the rain beat down like hail-pellets, they managed to drag out on deck the heavy piece of iron, which seemed to be some part of a machine.

The storeroom opened on that side of the deck where the superstructure of the houseboat gave some shelter, and, working in this, Ruth and Mr.

Howbridge managed to get the frayed end of the anchor rope attached to the heavy iron.

"Now if we can heave this overboard it may save us from drifting on the rocks until Neale and Hank can get the engine to working again," said the lawyer.

"We'll try!" exclaimed Ruth. Her guardian caught a glimpse of her face as the skies flashed forth into flame again. Her lips were parted from her rapid breathing, revealing her white teeth, and even in the stress and fury of the storm Mr. Howbridge could not but admire her. Though no one ever called Ruth Kenway pretty, there was an undeniable charm about her, and that had been greater, her guardian thought, ever since the day of Luke Shepard's entrance into her life.

"It's our last hope, and a forlorn one," Mr. Howbridge said dubiously, looking at their anchor.

Together they managed to drag the heavy piece of iron to the edge of the deck. Then, making sure the rope was fast about the cleat, they heaved the improvised anchor over the side. It fell into Lake Macopic with a great splash.

"What was that?" cried Neale, coming out on deck, followed by Agnes, who had been down watching him work at the engine.

"Our new anchor," replied the lawyer. "It may serve to hold us if you can't get the engine to working," and he explained what he and Ruth had done.

"Good!" exclaimed Neale. "I hope it does hold, for it doesn't seem as if we were going to get that monkey wrench out in a hurry. I'm looking for a long bar of iron to see if we can use it as a lever."

"There may be one in the storeroom where we found the anchor," remarked Ruth.

"I'll have a look."

The _Bluebird_ was not living up to her name. Instead of skimming more or less lightly over the surface of the lake she was rolling to and fro in the trough of the waves, which were really high. Now and then the crest of some comber broke over the snub bow of the craft, sending back the spray in a shower that rattled on the front windows of the cabin.

Anxiously the four on deck waited to see the effect of the anchor. If it held, catching on the bottom of the lake, it would mean a partial solution of their troubles. If it dragged--

Neale hastened to the side and looked down at the anchor cable. It was taut, showing that the weight had not slipped off. But the drift of the boat was not checked.

"Why doesn't it hold?" asked Ruth.

"Is it dragging?" came from the lawyer.

"I don't believe it is touching bottom," replied Neale. "I'm afraid the rope is too short. We are moving faster than before."