“Now,” he said, “you take the painter and get out and drag us higher, out of the pull of the water. I’ll help you the best I can.”
I complied, and presently the boat was drawn to a point so far above as to leave a wide margin for safety.
We took our seats to pull across, with a look at one another of conscious guilt. Dolly sat quite silent and pale, though she shivered a little.
“We didn’t know the river, and that’s a fact,” whispered Duke to me. “Of course we ought to have remembered the lock’s the other side.”
We pulled straight across; then Duke said:
“Here’s the shore, Dolly. Now, you and Trender get out, and I’ll take the boat on.”
“By yourself? No, I won’t. I feel safe with you.”
“Very well,” he answered, gently. “We’ll all go on together. There’s really no danger now we know what we’re about.”
She cried, “No, Duke,” in a poor little quaking voice.
We pulled into the lock cutting without further mishap, though the girl shrunk and blenched as we slid past, at a safe distance, the oblique comb of the weir.