Eli put his hand on the bow, as though about to attempt to clamber aboard again. But he withdrew it.
"Bobby, b'y," he said, "could you not manage t' pull a bit with the paddles. I'll swim alongside."
Bobby stared stupidly at him.
Again Eli put his hand on the bow. He was in terror of losing Bobby's life. Never before had he known such dread and fear. He did not dare risk overturning the boat again; for he knew that Bobby would not survive for the fourth time. What could he do? He could not get aboard, and Bobby could not row. How was he to get the boy ashore? His hand touched the painter—the long rope by which the boat was moored to the stage. That gave him an idea: he would tow the boat ashore!
So he took the rope in his teeth, and struck out for the tickle to the harbour!
"'Twas a close call, b'y," said Eli, when he and Bobby sat by the kitchen fire.
"Ay, Eli; 'twas a close call."
"A wonderful close call!" Eli repeated, grinning. "The closest I ever knowed."