My obvious intention was to crawl out upon the branch until it bent with my weight, and so let myself into, or as near the boat as possible.
It was close now, so close that I could see the gleam of Lisbeth's hair and the point of the little tan shoe. With my eyes on this, I writhed my way along the bough, which bent more and more as I neared the end. Here I hung, swaying up and down and to and fro in a highly unpleasant manner, while I waited the crucial moment.
Never upon this whole round earth did anything creep as that boat did. There was a majestic deliberation in its progress that positively maddened me. I remember to have once read an article somewhere upon the "Sensibility of Material Things," or something of the sort, which I had forgotten long since, but as I hung there suspended between heaven and earth, it came back to me with a rush, and I was perfectly certain that, recognising my precarious position, that time-worn, ancient boat checked its speed on purpose.
But all things have an end, and so, little by little the blunt bow crept nearer until it was in the very shade of my tree. Grasping the branch, I let myself swing at arm's length; and then I found that I was at least a foot too near the bank. Edging my way, therefore, still further along the branch, I kicked out in a desperate endeavour to reach the boat, and, the bough swaying with me, caught my toe inside the gunwale, drew it under me, and loosing my grasp, was sprawling upon my hands and knees, but safe aboard.
To pick myself up was the work of a moment, yet scarcely had I done so, when Lisbeth opened her eyes, and sitting up, stared about her.
"Why--where am I?" she exclaimed.
"On the river," I answered cheerfully. "Glorious afternoon, Lisbeth, isn't it?"
"How--in--the--world did you get here?" she inquired.
"Well," I answered, "I might say I dropped in, as it were."
Lisbeth brushed the hair from her temples, and turned to me with an imperious gesture.