The pig's troubles were quickly over. The rope round its hind legs, knotted by the capable Mr. Simpson, held firmly, and the water soon choked its cries as it sank for the last time. 'Possum and her father swam to the boat, which lay on its side, and clung to it, looking at each other.
"Well, of all the born fools!" spluttered Mr. O'Connor, a vision of soaked wrath. "I oughtn't to be let out. D'you know what happened?"
"I don't—I was asleep," 'Possum admitted. "First thing I knew, I was swimmin'."
"Well, you'd a right to go to sleep, but I hadn't," said Nick furiously. "That darned pig got loose, an' barged into me just as the wind struck us. Now we're in a lovely fix, an' I've lost a jolly good pig, an' it hardly paid for an hour. And me hat. Well, I ought to be kicked for a careless fool!"
"Can't be helped," said 'Possum cheerfully. "It was awful easy to go to sleep, sittin' still after havin' dinner in that hot kitchen."
"All very well for you to talk—you ain't got to pay for the pig!" said her father morosely. "I say, you climb up on the boat."
'Possum scrambled upon the boat, which lay on its side, held in position by the sail under the water. Then her father tried to follow her example; but the little craft ducked so ominously under his great weight that he slipped back into the lake.
"That'll never do—she won't hold both of us," he said.
"Then I'll get off," said 'Possum. "I can easy hold on."
"You will not," said her father decidedly. "Sit where you are, an' behave yourself. Tell you what—I'll work round an' stand on the mast: that'll be some support, an' it'll divide the weight better."