"Steady the boat, Bobby," he said, when the boy had taken the paddles into the dory. "I'm comin' aboard."
Eli attempted to board the dory over the bow. She was tossing about in a choppy sea; and he was not used to her ways. Had she been a punt—his punt—he would have been aboard in a trice. But she was not his punt—not a punt, at all; she was a new boat, a dory, a flat-bottomed craft; he was not used to her ways. Bobby tried desperately to steady her while Eli lifted himself out of the water.
"Take care, Eli!" he screamed. "She'll be over!"
Eli got his knee on the gunwale—no more than that. A wave tipped the boat; she lurched; she capsized. And again Eli waited for Bobby to come to the surface of the water; again buoyed him up; again gave him courage; again helped him to the boat; again bailed the boat—this time with one of Bobby's boots—and again helped Bobby aboard.
"I'm wonderful tired, Eli," said Bobby, when the paddles were handed over the side for the second time. "I'm fair' done out."
"'Twill be over soon, lad. I'll have you home by the kitchen fire in half an hour. Come, now, partner! Steady the boat. I'll try again."
Even more cautiously Eli attempted to clamber aboard. Inch by inch he raised himself out of the water. When the greater waves ran under the boat, he paused; when she rode on an even keel, he came faster. Inch by inch, humouring the cranky boat all the time, he lifted his right leg. But he could not get aboard. Again, when his knee was on the gunwale, the dory capsized.
For the third time the little partner was helped aboard and given a boot with which to bail. His strength was then near gone. He threw water over the side until he could no longer lift his arms.
"Eli," he gasped, "I can do no more!"