"Yes," she said, "but my feet are sinking into it—" She tore them loose and swam. Herring did likewise. And they clung to the boat.
"I hope you'll forgive me," said Phyllis. "I never rowed a boat before and I never could stand live fish."
"It was my fault," said Herring. "Something told me to lean the opposite from the way you leaned. But it told me too late. The truth is I don't know how to behave in a boat. Well, you are still guide. It's up to you."
"What is up to me?"
"A plan of some sort," said he, "to get us out of this."
"Oh, no," she said, "it's up to you."
"My plan," he said, "would be to get back into the boat and row home. It seems feasible, and even easy. But appearances are deceptive. I think I'd rather walk. What has happened here might happen out on the middle of the lake."
"What you don't realize," said Phyllis, "is that we're in the midst of an impassable swamp."
"Impassable?"
"Well, no one's ever crossed it except in winter."