Pam spent the day in bed following her unfortunate experience at the hand of wine masquerading as cordial; recovering fully, with only shame and a headache to remind her of the debacle.

Fortunately, Jim seemed to have kept to his word, as no one made any mention of it. Knowing Mrs. Lynde’s propensity for discussion of scandal, Pam and the Vances concluded that no one besides themselves and Jim knew the true story of what had happened, Angela being unaware and Kelly and the rest thinking Pam had just eaten a bad tart.

Pam’s summer days stretched along as beads on a string, each lovelier than the last. She was officially in her teens now, and Pam wanted one summer of fun. Phyllis was in agreement there, to the chagrin of Marjorie Lynde.

“That girl ought not to be gadding her days away, she should be improving her brain and helping you!” sniffed Marjorie one afternoon.

Phyllis just smiled and continued knitting. . “The way I see it, she’s never had a carefree time before this, what with living with those families and watching children all the time, and then living in overcrowded orphanages. And I can manage on my own. I think her brain is just fine, and Doctor Blair thinks she needs some meat on her bones, too.”

Marjorie pursed her lips and nodded. She always agreed with doctors, even if they couldn’t always properly diagnose all of her various aches and pains when they occurred. 

*

One hot day in late August found Pam and her friends enjoying a picnic lunch down by the Lake of Shining Waters. Having comfortably eaten all of their sandwiches and cake, they were taking turns reading aloud from a book of poetry and occasionally acting out the more fun ones.

Earlier in the summer, Pam had fallen in love with “The Lady of Shalott” and the other girls found the poem marvelous as well. What the girls didn’t know was that Pam had a sketch book filled with illustrations of the poem. She loved how the pictures flowed from her pencil as ‘the river eddy whirls’ and loved finding the nuances of character in the words.

She felt that she should at least tell Kelly, her bosom friend, but Pam was afraid Kelly would poke fun, or at least swoon over Lancelot, who, for some reason, always seemed too tall in Pam’s drawings. She could never get the scale right when it came to him.

Pam was used to people ridiculing her propensity for drawing. Mrs. Hammond used to get terribly angry when she would catch Pam sketching one of her babies, rather than feeding it, and more than one scrap of paper had ended its short life at the hand of the coal stove. Pam knew in her heart that none of her Avonlea compatriots would do such a thing, but old wounds run deep, and Pam hadn’t mustered the courage to show anyone these particular sketches that were so close to her heart.

Today, though, it was not even in the forefront of her mind. She lay sprawled in a most unladylike way on the picnic blanket and drew a little caricature of Kelly and Ryan Wright, which sent Kelly into delighted giggles, and to which Meredith grinned and Angela raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s silly to moon over boys,” she said almost severely, and Pam privately agreed.

Meredith tossed her apple core away and picked up the poetry book. “We should play Lady of Shalott, we haven’t done that one yet,” she said, opening it to the lily maid’s pages. Kelly sat up, tucking the precious Ryan Wright drawing into her dress pocket, and cried, "Yes, we should!"

Angela looked torn. "Mrs. Lynde says acting is a sin," she said slowly. Kelly shook her head. "It's not acting, it's dramatic interpretation, like Mr. Scott says,” she said.

Angela looked slightly mollified, and Pam jumped up off the blanket. 'We can use this and put it in the dory," she suggested, picking up the blanket and tucking her sketch book into her apron pocket.

The girls enthusiastically agreed, and they all ran over to the water's edge where the dory sat comfortably in the pond. Pam carefully spread the colorful quilt in the bottom of the small rowboat, and they stood back to admire the effect.

"You be the Lady Elaine first, Pam," said Kelly, "We can take turns."

Pam looked at the other girls, and they nodded. Smiling, she climbed into the dory and rested on her back. Angela appeared above her with a handful of wildflowers, which she tucked under Pam's hands, which were crossed on her chest in a most appropriately deathly pose.

Pam squinted up at Kelly as she rearranged the flowers. "Pam, lie still, you're supposed to be dead!" admonished Kelly as she stepped back. Pam obliged, closing her eyes and trying to look serene. She must have succeeded, because just as the girls were about to push the boat from the shore, she heard Meredith say, "Gosh, she really looks like a corpse!"

Pam heard Kelly's voice call out, "Farewell, dear Elaine! May the next world bring you more joy!" followed by Angela's more practical, "We'll meet you down at the dock!"

Pam drifted along, enjoying the sensation of the sun on her face and being gently rocked by the lapping water. She imagined this was what the poor Elaine had felt, although she had been dead at the time, so perhaps it wasn't the same at all. Still, the breeze was nice, and Pam sighed happily.

She felt the firm wood of the dory under her back, but suddenly it didn't feel the same any more. The back of her head felt almost wet, but it couldn't be, and then water soaked her bloomers and the back of her dress. She sat up suddenly, and was appalled at the water that was invading her boat. It must have sprung a leak, and it was sinking fast.

She began bailing water out with her hands, but it wasn't working very well, and she remembered her sketch book in her apron pocket. Not wanting it to get wet, she rolled up her apron around the book and tucked it up at her chest as best as she could.

She looked wildly around; there was no sign of her friends, or anyone else. The doomed vessel was mercifully drifting near the pilings of the bridge that traversed the pond, and Pam decided to try for the pilings. The phrase 'sink or swim' came to mind, but she didn't really want to think about that.

She leaned out as the bridge grew nearer, and leapt, pushing off of the dory, which sank slowly beneath the surface as it drifted along. She crashed into the nearest piling, thankful for the padding of her bunched-up apron and the sodden quilt. She clung to the piling; below the surface, the toe of one of her boots barely touched a beam of wood. It was enough to support herself, but wasn't enough to give her some leverage to climb up any higher.

She stayed suspended between bridge and water, wondering what on earth she should do. There was no sign of her friends, and this bridge was not highly trafficked.

She began to form a plan in her mind that involved tossing her apron bundle up onto the bridge and then trying to swim to the shore. She had never learned to swim, but she figured she might as well try.

Just as she was thinking about how she would let go of the piling to unbutton her apron, she heard movement in the water. Craning her neck, she saw Jim Blythe in a rowboat, heading right toward her. She sighed and then regained her composure, trying to look as though she meant to be there.

With a wide grin, he floated up beside her and reached up to the bridge to stop his boat. “Pam Shirley, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Fishing for lake trout,” she replied nonchalantly. She’d never admit that she was pretending to be the Lady of Shalott and had accidentally sunk her boat.

He laughed, and she noticed a fishing pole and tin pail of worms in his boat.

“Care to join me?” he asked, holding out his free hand.  Pam hesitated.

“Or, if you’d like, I think I saw Dwighde on the pond with the canoe he’s spent the last two years hewing, you could wait for him,” Jim added, and Pam finally smiled.

“Let me take you to the dock,” Jim offered, and this time, Pam let him grab her arm and pull her into the boat, which tipped as she tumbled awkwardly in.

She sat upright, dripping, and realized she’d almost tipped the pail of worms over. She reached down to move it to a more secure place when Jim reached down, too. “Here, I’ll move those, you won’t have to touch them,” he said.

Pam looked at him. “Why wouldn’t I touch them?” she asked, and Jim looked embarrassed.

“I thought girls were afraid of worms,” he said, and Pam shook her head. “I don’t mind them at all,” she said. Jim smiled.

“I should have known,” was his cryptic reply, and Pam wasn’t sure she liked it.

 “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, and his smile faded.

“I didn’t mean anything bad, I just meant that you weren’t like other girls,” he said. He began rowing the oars through the water, leaving Pam to mull that thought over.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she looked down, and then realized her apron was still rolled in a bunch at her chest. “Oh my goodness,” she said aloud and unrolled it.

Jim smiled. “I almost asked about that, but I decided not to,” he said. Pam laughed a little. “I didn’t want my sketch book to get wet,” she explained, feeling that the truth was probably the least odd answer she could give.  He nodded and then hesitated a moment before asking, “Can I see what you’ve drawn?”

Pam wasn’t sure why she nodded, but she held out the book to Jim. She felt instinctively that he wouldn’t make fun of her, and perhaps it was the calm of the pond or the loveliness of the day that made her want to share a little bit of herself.

He handed her the oars and he took the book. She busied herself by rowing while he flipped through the pages; she watched him look at her pictures. “Pam, these are really very good,” he said, sounding almost awed. Pam shook her head bashfully, but he continued, “No, they are! Look at this one, look how sad she is, looking into the water.”

A warm feeling welled up inside Pam. It was so nice to hear that someone thought what she did was good. “Can I keep this?” Jim asked, his cheeks red. Pam didn’t know what to say, so she nodded. Jim carefully tore the page from the book and handed the book back to her.

They bumped up against the dock, and Pam was almost disappointed, which frightened her a bit. She clambered out of the boat and said “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Blythe.”

Jim climbed out of the boat. “Pam, can’t we be friends?” he asked, “I know I hurt your feelings on your first day of school, and you don’t know how sorry I am.”

Pam nodded. “You did hurt them excruciatingly,” she agreed, remembering the pangs of sadness and embarrassment she had felt.

“Well, I only did it because I wanted to meet you so much,” said Jim, looking uncomfortable, and suddenly Pam felt herself flush.

“So are we friends?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Pam thought for a moment.

“All right, we’re friends. You certainly have helped me out of several situations lately. I suppose that’s very friendly,” she said, trying to eradicate some of the seriousness of unspoken thoughts that still hung in the air.

Jim grinned. “You’re lucky we’re friends now, because friends share good news, and I have some for you. Mr. Scott finally posted the results of the final exams and you and I tied for the highest score.”

Pam nearly dropped the soaking quilt she was clutching. “We got the highest score?” she asked incredulously. Jim grinned. “I’m just sorry you have to share it with me,” he said.

“I never expected to beat you,” she said, and she was overcome with the urge to tell Phyllis and Bob the news.

"I’m sorry, I just have to go. I need to tell the Vances, and I don’t want everyone to think I’ve drowned!” she said, and he laughed.

“Thank you, Jim!” she called back as she ran toward the path to Green Gables, and he waved to her. She didn’t mind that she was soaking wet and had nearly drowned; Jim’s kindness had warmed her somehow, and she thought that this was a good day.