I saw him overtake it, scramble into it in midstream, and handle the oars as to the manner born.

When he had brought it back to the spot where I stood, I knew that Peter Mason was my deliverer.

Quite recovered by this time from my slight attack of drowning, I got again into the boat, and leaving the oars to Peter, was rowed across and landed.
There was no further difficulty.

The man, alarmed, I suppose, at the danger I had run, recalled his dog; we bundled in the clothes; Peter rowed them across; Rory, the big boy, took the water after the boat, and I plunged in again above the dam.

For the whole of that summer and part of the following winter, Peter was my hero, to the forgetting even of my friend Turkey.