“Oh,” said Duke, pausing for a moment, “this will never do, Dolly. Why, you can’t be afraid with two such knights to protect you?”
“I can’t help it,” said the poor child, fairly crying now. “You don’t know anything about the river, either of you; and—and mayn’t I get out and walk?”
“Very well. One of us will go with you, while the other pulls the boat down. Only we must get across first. Steady, now, Renny; and cheer up, Doll, and put her nose to the shore opposite.”
We had drifted some little distance since we first easy’d, and a dull booming, that was in our ears at the time, had increased to a considerable roar.
“Give way!” cried Duke; “turn her, Dolly!”
The girl tugged at the right line, gave a gasp, dropped everything, scrambled to her feet, and screamed in a dreadful voice: “We are going over the weir!”
“Sit down!” shouted Duke. “Pull, Renny, like a madman!”
He shipped his oar, forced the girl into a sitting posture and clutched the inner line all in a moment. His promptitude saved us. I fought at the water with my teeth set; the boat’s nose plunged into the bank with a shock that sent us two sprawling, and the boat’s stern swung round dizzily. But before she could cast adrift again I was on my knees and had seized at a projecting root with a grasp like Quasimodo’s.
“Hold on!” cried Duke, “till I come to you. It’s all right, Dolly; you’re quite safe now.”
He crawled to me and grasped the root in his more powerful hands.