“Let’s get out and walk,” proposed Ned. “It’ll be quicker, and easier, too.”
Bob already was walking—or, rather, scampering. According to his custom, as the boat approached the land he had deserted.
“Let’s,” chimed in Zu-zu.
Tom swung the unwieldly craft in broadside against the bank, where trees and bushes came clear to the water’s edge, and all disembarked—although by different methods. That is, Zu-zu skipped out, Ned leaped out, and Tom merely stepped out, so that he could stoop and tie the chain painter to a root. Bob was present to welcome them.
“There!” Tom said. “We’ve got here, anyway.”
“Nobody’ll take it, I guess,” remarked Ned.
“Not if they have to row it,” asserted Tom.
“It’s the Black Swan!” cried Zu-zu, gazing back upon it. “See? It has the name on the—the—well, I don’t know whether you say stern or bow, but it’s right under where I was sitting.”
“Huh! Black Swan!” commented Tom, in scorn. “They ought to name it Mud Turtle.”