"Be keerful, now, how ye board this craft," Abner warned.
"I've a good mind to dump you both into the water," was the retort.
"Try it on, young man, if ye want to stay down in that mud till ye stop bubblin'."
With considerable difficulty Lansing was helped on board, and once more the canoe sped forward.
"Look at my clothes," Billy whined. "What a mess they are in!"
"Oh, they'll soon dry out," Abner comforted. "When ye git ashore ye kin jist set in the sun, an' them duds'll he dry in no time. Then ye kin roll over a log, an' they'll he ironed an' ye'r pants creased quicker an' better than they could at any landry."
"But this mud won't come off, though," and Billy mournfully viewed several big daubs on his white trousers.
"Not if ye rub it. Jist let it dry, an' then it'll brush off without hardly a stain. It's somethin' like scandal, mud is. Rub it when it's wet, an', Lord, it makes an awful mess! But jist leave it alone fer a while, an' it'll disappear, an' ye'll scarcely know it was there. That's what old Parson Shaw uster say, an' it's true, fer I've tried it. But here we are at the island."
CHAPTER XXIII
RESCUED