“I’m not dirty,” pleaded MacDaly piteously, “and for the love of mercy do not let go your hold of me or I shall sink like a stone.”
“You bad man,” said Joe; “you teaseum Miss Debbiline. You say, me don’t speakum her more.”
“I promise; ye gods and little fishes hear my vow!” cried MacDaly, when Joe allowed him to come far enough out of the water to clasp his hands. “Oh, let me out, let me out!”
“You been bery bad,” said Joe seriously. “Me priest now. You sayum sins quick.”
MacDaly with alarming rapidity rattled off a number of venial transgressions. He had recovered from his first alarm and was reflecting that the Indian did not wish to hurt him but only to frighten him, that the water was agreeably cool, and that he had on his second-best suit of clothes.
“You done worse than that,” said Joe. “Tellum worse thing you done,” and he let MacDaly down in the water till his ears and eyes were covered.
“Oh, mermaids and cuttle fish, I can‘t!” his victim gurgled and spluttered.
“Must,” said the Micmac, dipping him again till the crown of his head was immersed.
“I burnt a building,” gasped MacDaly in real fright. “Now let me out,” and for the first time making resistance he clung to the rock with his hands.
Joe allowed him to clamber up beside him. “What you burnum?” he asked.