It hardly seemed to need trying. The boat turned almost, as it were, of itself, and in another moment they were quietly moving towards the shore. Nor did it seem to make any difference when Bertrand took the oars from Mavis and resumed his rowing.
“If I only waited another moment,” he said. “We got out of the current just as you caught the oar, Mavis.”
She shook her head doubtfully.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it was that,” she said. “But any way now it is all right again, and we are going back, you and Bertrand, Ruby, will not think of playing any trick, or setting the villagers on to old Adam.”
“Why not, pray?” said Bertrand. “And—”
“I don’t see what has made any difference,” said Ruby pertly. “Suppose the horrid things had bewitched the boat, is that any reason for not showing them up? You think it’s all your wonderful cleverness that got the boat round, do you, Mavis?”
“No, I don’t. I think a good many things I’m not going to tell you,” said the little girl. “But one thing I will tell you, I will not leave the boat or come on shore unless you promise me to give up your naughty cruel plan.”
She spoke so firmly that Ruby was startled. And indeed her own words seemed to surprise Mavis herself. It was as if some one were whispering to her what to say. But on Bertrand they made no impression.
“You won’t, won’t you?” he said. “Ah, well, we’ll see to that.”
They were close to the shore by this time. The marvellous boat had “got over the ground,” I was going to say—I mean the water—even more quickly than when going out to sea. And in another minute, thanks to something—no doubt Bertrand thought it was thanks to his wonderful skill—they glided quietly into the little landing-place where Winfried had brought them two days ago.