The Associate Hermits Part 11

Then she rowed hard, pulling and splas.h.i.+ng, and evidently a little tired.

She was strong, but this unusual exercise was a trial to her muscles.

Perhaps, too, she felt that the bishop was watching her, and that made her a little nervous, for she could not help being aware that she was not handling the oars as well as when she started out. With a strong pull at her right oar to turn the boat inland, she got her left oar tangled between the water and the boat, so it seemed to her, and lost her hold of it. In a moment it was overboard and floating on the lake.

Leaning over the side of the boat, she made a grasp at the oar, but it was too far for her to reach it; and then, by a spasmodic movement of the other oar, the distance was increased.

The bishop's face grew pale. As he looked at her he saw that she was moving away from the floating oar, and now he understood why she had progressed so well. There was a considerable current in the lake which had carried her along, and was now moving the heavy boat much faster than it moved the oar. What should he tell her to do? If she could put her single oar out at the stern, she might scull the boat; but he was sure she did not understand sculling, and to try it she would have to stand up, and this would be madness.

She now took the other oar from the rowlock, and was about to rise, when the bishop shouted to her.

"What are you going to do?" he cried.

"I am going to the stern," she said, "to see if I cannot reach that oar with this one. Perhaps I can pull it in."

"For Heaven's sake, don't do that!" he cried. "Don't stand up, or the boat will tip, and you will fall overboard."

"But what can I do?" she called back. "I can't row with one oar."

"Try rowing a little on one side, and then on the other," said he.

"Perhaps you can bring in the boat in that way."

She followed his suggestion, but very awkwardly, and he saw plainly that she was tired. Instead of approaching the sh.o.r.e, the boat continued to float down the lake.

Margery turned again. "Bishop," she cried, "what shall I do? I must do something, or I can't get ash.o.r.e at all."

She did not look frightened; there was more of annoyance in her expression, as if she thought it impertinent in fate to treat her in this way, and she would not stand it.

"If I had thought of the current," said the bishop to himself, "I would never have let her go out alone, and she can't be trusted in that boat another minute longer. She will do something desperate." So saying, the bishop took off his hat and threw it on the ground. Then he unb.u.t.toned his coat and began to take it off, but he suddenly changed his mind. Even in that wilderness and under these circ.u.mstances he must appear respectable, so he b.u.t.toned his coat again, hastily took off his shoes, and, without hesitating, walked into the water until it was above his waist, and then calling to Margery that he was coming to her, he began to swim out into the lake. He did not strike out immediately for the boat, but directed his course towards the floating oar. Turning his head frequently towards Margery, he could see that she was sitting perfectly still, watching him, and so he kept on with a good heart.

The bishop was a powerful swimmer, but he found great difficulty in making his way through the water, on account of the extreme tightness of his clothes. It seemed to him that his arms and legs were bandaged in splints, as if he had been under a surgeon's care; but still he struck out as well as he could, and in time reached the oar. Pus.h.i.+ng this before him to the boat, Margery took hold of it.

"You swim splendidly," said she. "You can climb in right here."

But the bishop knew better than that, and worked his way round to the stern, and after holding on a little while to get his breath, he managed to clamber into the boat.

"Was the water very cold?" said she.

On his replying that it was, she said she thought so because he seemed stiff.

"Now, Miss Dearborn," said he, "I have made the stern seat very wet, but I don't believe you will mind that, and if you will sit here I will take the oars and row you in."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BUT THE BISHOP KNEW BETTER"]

"Oh, I think I can do that myself," said Margery. "I am rested now, and I am ever so much obliged to you for getting my oar for me."

Under almost any circ.u.mstances the bishop could smile, and now he smiled at the ridiculousness of the idea of Margery's rowing that boat back against the current, and with him in it.

"Indeed," said he, "I must insist. I shall freeze to death if I don't warm myself by exercise." So, reaching out his hand, he a.s.sisted Margery to the stern, and seating himself in her place, he took the oars, which she had drawn in.

"I don't see why I could not make the boat go along that way," said she, as they began to move steadily towards the camp. "I believe I could do it if people would only let me practise by myself; but they always want to show me how, and I hate to have anybody show me how. It is funny," she continued, "that you seem so very wet all but your collar. That looks as smooth and nice as if it had just come from the laundry."

The bishop laughed. "That is because it is gutta-percha," he said, "intended for rough use in camp; but the rest of my habiliments were not intended for wet weather."

"And you have no hat," said she. "Doesn't the sun hurt your head?"

"My head does feel a little warm," said he, "but I didn't want to row back to the place where I left my hat. It was not a good landing-place, after all. Besides," he said to himself, "I never thought of my hat or my shoes."

CHAPTER XII

THE BISHOP ENGAGES THE ATTENTION OF THE GUIDES

When the boat touched the sh.o.r.e Margery ran to the cabin to a.s.sure Mrs.

Archibald of her safety, if she had been missed.

The bishop was sticking the stake in the hole from which he had pulled it, when Martin came running to him.

"That's a pretty piece of business!" cried the young man. "If you wanted to go out in the boat, why didn't you come to me for the key? You've got no right to pull up the stakes we've driven down. That's the same thing as stealing the boat. What's the matter? Did you tumble overboard? You must be a pretty sort of an oarsman! If the ladies want to go out in the boat, I am here to take them. I'd like you to understand that."

As has been said before, the bishop could smile under almost any circ.u.mstances, and he smiled now, but at the same time his brow wrinkled, which was not common when he smiled.

"I am going down to the sh.o.r.e to get my hat and shoes," he said, "and I would like you to come along with me. I can't stand here and talk to you."

"What do you want?" said Martin.

"Come along and see," said the bishop; "that is, if you are not afraid."

That was enough, and the young man walked behind him until they reached the spot where the bishop had taken to the water. Then he stopped, and explained to Martin all that had happened.

"Now," said he, "what have you got to say?"

Martin, now that he knew that the bishop had plunged into the water for the sake of the beautiful Margery, was more jealously angry than when he had supposed he had merely taken her out to row.

"I haven't anything to say," he answered, shortly, "except that parsons had better attend to their own business, if they have any, and let young ladies and boats alone."

"Oh, that's all, is it?" said the bishop, and with a quick step forward he clutched the young man's arm with his right hand, while he seized his belt with the other, and then with a great heave sent him out into the water fully ten feet from the sh.o.r.e. With a splash like a dropped anchor Martin disappeared from view, but soon arose, his head and shoulders above the surface, where he stood for a moment, spluttering and winking and almost dazed.

The bishop stood on the bank and smiled. "Did you fall overboard?" said he. "You must be a pretty sort of a boatman!"

Without replying, Martin began to wade ash.o.r.e.

"Come on," said the bishop; "if you can't get up the bank, I'll help you."

But Martin needed no help; he scrambled to the bank, shook himself, and then advanced upon the bishop, fire in his eye and his fist clinched.

"Stop, young man," said the other. "It would not be fair to you if I did not tell you that I am a boxer and a heavy-weight, and that I threw you into the water because I didn't want to damage your face and eyes. You were impertinent, but I am satisfied, and the best thing you can do is to go and change your clothes before any one sees you in that plight. You are better off than I am, because I have no clothes with which to make a change." So saying, he sat down and began to put on his shoes.