"No," said Margery; "I don't want that boat. I've seen it. It is a clumsy old thing, and, besides, it leaks. I want this one. This is just the kind of boat I want to row. It is too bad! If I could get off now there would be nobody to hinder me, for Martin is washing the dinner dishes, or doing something of that kind, and whenever he does house-work he always keeps himself out of sight."
The bishop examined the stake. It was a stout little tree trunk driven deep into the ground and projecting about five feet above the surface, with the chain so wrapped around it that it was impossible to force it up or down. Seizing the stake near the top, the bishop began to push it backward and forward, and being a man of great strength, he soon loosened it so much that, stooping, he was able to pull it from the ground.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Margery. "It came up just like pulling a tooth."
"Yes," said the radiant bishop, "the good Matlack may be very careful about fastening a boat, but I think I have got the better of him this time; and now I will put the stake, chain and all, in the bow. That is the best way of disposing of them. Are you sure that you prefer going alone? I shall be delighted to row you if you wish me to."
"Oh no," said Margery; "I am just wild to row myself, and I want to hurry and get off for fear Martin will be coming down here."
"Are you sure you understand rowing and the management of a boat?" he asked.
"Oh yes," she replied, "I can row; of course I can. I will get in, and then you can push off the boat."
"Allow me," said the bishop. But before he could reach her to help her, Margery stepped quickly into the boat and was about to seat herself.
"If you will take the seat next to the stern," said the bishop, holding the boat so that it would be steady, "I think that will be better. Then the weight of the stake in the bow will put the boat on an even keel."
"All right," said Margery, accepting his suggestion and seating herself. "Now just wait until I get the oars into the rowlocks, and then you can push me off."
"Which way do you intend to row?" asked the bishop.
"Oh, I shall go down towards the lower end of the lake, because that way there are more bushes along the banks and Martin will be less apt to see me. If I go the other way I will be in plain sight of the camp, and he may think he ought to do something--fire a gun across my bows to bring me to, maybe, as they do at sea."