“No; I mean what I say; there is no blunder for you to grin at. I stuck the pole so firmly into the deep mud, that I could not pull it out; but it pulled me in.”
“Why didn’t you let go at once?”
“I hadn’t time to think of that; instinctively I grasped the pole, lost my balance, and tumbled into the river.”
The unfortunate youth was extracted from the deep slime among osiers by a labourer near hand, and he dried his clothes in a cottage—
“Quae villula tectum,
Praebuit—”
without any bad results.
“But, do you remember, Master Tydvill,” said O’Mackerry, “the day when I was so near catching you and throwing you into the deep hole—clothes and all? Ay, and you deserved a ducking?”
“But really, Mack, would you have pitched me in, when you knew that I was a bad swimmer, especially when dressed?”
“Assuredly I would have done so, for I was unusually hot in my temper, though very cold in my body at that moment; however, I suppose that I should have acted the part of the Newfoundland dog, and dragged the puppy by his neck out of the water.”
This complimentary part he addressed to the crew at large, and then described the incident.