“If I had thought of the current,” said the bishop to himself, “I would never have let her go out alone, and she can’t be trusted in that boat another minute longer. She will do something desperate.” So saying, the bishop took off his hat and threw it on the ground. Then he unbuttoned his coat and began to take it off, but he suddenly changed his mind. Even in that wilderness and under these circumstances he must appear respectable, so he buttoned his coat again, hastily took off his shoes, and, without hesitating, walked into the water until it was above his waist, and then calling to Margery that he was coming to her, he began to swim out into the lake. He did not strike out immediately for the boat, but directed his course towards the floating oar. Turning his head frequently towards Margery, he could see that she was sitting perfectly still, watching him, and so he kept on with a good heart.
The bishop was a powerful swimmer, but he found great difficulty in making his way through the water, on account of the extreme tightness of his clothes. It seemed to him that his arms and legs were bandaged in splints, as if he had been under a surgeon’s care; but still he struck out as well as he could, and in time reached the oar. Pushing this before him to the boat, Margery took hold of it.
“You swim splendidly,” said she. “You can climb in right here.”
But the bishop knew better than that, and worked his way round to the stern, and after holding on a little while to get his breath, he managed to clamber into the boat.
“Was the water very cold?” said she.
On his replying that it was, she said she thought so because he seemed stiff.
“Now, Miss Dearborn,” said he, “I have made the stern seat very wet, but I don’t believe you will mind that, and if you will sit here I will take the oars and row you in.”
“BUT THE BISHOP KNEW BETTER”