Abner paddled, while Royden sat in the bottom of the canoe. Billy persisted in sitting well up on the bow, notwithstanding Abner's warning.
"Ye might tumble off there," he told him. "This is not a scow nor an ocean liner ye'r in now, but a cranky canoe, an' ye kin never tell what might happen."
"De ye think I'm a kid?" Billy indignantly asked. "I'm all right here. You get a hustle on, and never mind me."
Abner made no reply, though a peculiar expression appeared in his eyes. He paddled with long steady strokes, and looked straight ahead. It was a beautiful day, and only a gentle ripple ruffled the surface of the river. It took but a few minutes to cross the channel, and then they were in shallow water in the midst of eel-grass, broad water-lily leaves, snags and half-sunken logs.
Billy was deliberately smoking a cigarette, with an air of bored indifference. Suddenly the canoe struck a partly submerged root, which tilted it dangerously to the right. The force of the impact sent Billy backwards, and with a yell of fright he plunged headlong into the water. He was up again in an instant, spluttering and trying to disentangle himself from the eel-grass, which was entwined about his face and neck. The canoe by now was several yards away, and as Billy endeavored to walk, he not only sank ankle deep in the soft, yielding mud, but several times he stumbled and almost fell over a sunken log or root.
"Hello, what are ye doin' out there?" Abner asked in apparent surprise. "Fishin' fer clams? There ain't none there."
"D—n you," was the angry reply. "You know what I'm doing. It was all your fault. You struck that log on purpose."
"What log? Did we strike a log?" and Abner appealed to Royden.
"I didn't see any," was the laughing reply. "But Billy says we did, and he evidently knows from the look of things."
By this time the unfortunate man had struggled to the side of the canoe.