Ned stared at Tom, and Tom stared at Ned. Somehow, oars had not occurred to them, although had they thought, they would have known that whatever the boat, the oars would not be left in it.
“I’ll paddle with a board,” declared Tom. “You get in while I’m hunting one.”
“Sit in the other end, Zu-zu,” bade Ned, holding out his hand to help her as she sprang from seat to seat. Bob was less polite. He rushed rudely past her, as if afraid of being left, and planted himself in the stern.
“Bob! Shame on you,” reproved Ned. “Don’t you know that the rule is ‘ladies first’?”
“But that’s meant for men, not dogs, isn’t it, Bob?” comforted Zu-zu, perching herself beside him, and sitting on her feet to keep them out of the water that swished about in the leaky craft.
Tom, with a piece of board in his hands, hurried back, and when Ned had securely squatted upon a seat in the middle, with a lusty heave he slowly started the heavy boat from its mooring-place, and tumbled in.
He stood up, and with a long, sweeping motion paddled first on the one side and then on the other. The craft, with its load, gradually crept toward the shore of Eagle, a stone’s throw away. Zu-zu, fixed in the spot assigned her, longed to trail her hand in the water, but refrained. She did not dare so much as move, lest she should become a “bother.”
Under Tom’s efforts they floated into the narrow mouth of a little bayou, called Catfish Slough, which wound through the island and emptied into Beaver Lake, in the centre of the island.
“Gracious, but this is hard work!” spoke Tom, after they had run aground several times in rounding corners. “The old thing won’t answer her helm.”
“Poor Tom,” cooed Zu-zu.