“Oh, I shall go down towards the lower end of the lake, because that way there are more bushes along the banks and Martin will be less apt to see me. If I go the other way I will be in plain sight of the camp, and he may think he ought to do something—fire a gun across my bows to bring me to, maybe, as they do at sea.”
“Hardly,” said the bishop, “but let me advise you not to go very far from the shore, so that if you feel tired you can come in easily, and if you will allow me I will walk down the shore in the direction in which you intend to row.”
“Oh, I am not going to get tired,” said she. “I could row all day. It is splendid to be in a boat all by myself and have the whole management of it. Now please push me off.”
With some reluctance, but with a sincere desire to make the young girl happy, which could not be overcome by prudence—at least by such prudence as he possessed—the bishop, with a strong, steady push, sent the boat well out on the surface of the water.
“That was beautifully done,” Margery called back to him. “Now I have room enough to turn around without any trouble at all.”
She turned the boat about with its bow towards the lower end of the lake, but it was not done without trouble. “I have not rowed for a good while,” she said, “but I am getting used to the oars already. Now then, I’m off,” and she began to pull with a strength which, had it been suitably paired with skill, would have made her an excellent amateur oarswoman. But the place of skill was supplied by enthusiasm and determination. Once or twice an oar slipped from the rowlock and she nearly went over backward, and several times one of the blades got under the water with the flat side up, so that she had difficulty in getting it out. She raised her oars much too high in the air, but she counterbalanced this by sinking them very deep into the water. But she got on, and although her course was somewhat irregular, its general trend was in the direction desired.
The bishop walked along the bank, keeping as near to the water as he could. Sometimes masses of shrubbery shut off all view of the lake, and then there would be an open space where he would stop and watch the boat.
“Please keep near the shore, Miss Dearborn,” he called, “that will be better, I think, and it is certainly more shady and pleasant than farther out.”
“I know what you mean,” cried Margery, pulling away in high good-humor, “you think it is safer near the shore; but I am not going to row very far this time, and after a little while I may pull the boat in and rest for a time before starting back,” and then she rowed on with renewed energy.
The next time the bishop was able to hail the boat, it was at a point where he was obliged to push his way through the bushes in order to see out upon the lake.