“Now you hold the rope,” said Bevis, “while I get in,” and he put one foot on the raft.
Just then there came a whistle, first a long low call, then a quaver, then two short calls repeated.
“That’s Mark,” said Bevis, and in he hastened. “Push me off,” for one edge of the raft touched the sandy shore.
“Holloa!” shouted Mark, racing down the meadow from the gateway; “stop a minute! let me!—”
“Push,” said Bevis.
The boy shoved the raft off; it floated very well, but the moment it was free of the ground and Bevis’s weight had to be entirely supported, the water squirted in around the edges.
“You’ll be drownded,” said the carter’s lad.
“Pooh!” said Bevis.
“I shall jump in,” said Mark, making as if he were about to leap.
“If you do I’ll hit you,” said Bevis, doubling his fists; “I say!—”