"And he's over there, is he?" said I.
"Yes, he's all right, eatin' his supper, I reckon. But isn't this here your boat?"
"Yes, it is," I said, "and I'm going home in it. You can take the other man."
And, without saying another word, I picked up my oars, which I had brought from the bushes, jumped into my boat, and pushed off.
"I reckon you're a little riled, aint ye?" said the man; but I made him no answer, and left him to explain to Mr. Chipperton his remark about stealing the boat. They set off soon after me, and we had a race down the creek. I was "a little riled," and I pulled so hard that the other boat did not catch up to me until we got out into the river. Then it passed me, but it didn't get to town much before I did.
The first person I met on the pier was Rectus. He had had his supper, and had come down to watch for me. I was so angry that I would not speak to him. He kept by my side, though, as I walked up to the house, excusing himself for going off and leaving me.
"You see, it wasn't any use for me to take that long walk back there to the creek. I told the men of the fix we were in, and they said they'd send somebody for us, but they thought I'd better come along with them, as I was there."
I had a great mind to say something here, but I didn't.
"It wouldn't have done you any good for me to come back through the woods in the dark. The boat wouldn't get over to you any faster. You see, if there'd been any good at all in it, I would have come back—but there wasn't."
All this might have been very true, but I remembered how I had sat and walked and thought and worried about Rectus, and his explanation did me no good.