Phil, take your handkerchief and wipe the poor man's face.

I'm afraid it is rather a dirty one.
Your handkerchiefs are never fit to be seen, but it is better than nothing." Phil took a grimy blue-and-yellow cotton rag from the pocket of his serge nether garments, and proceeded to wipe the rescued man's face with as much force and energy as if he had been polishing tin pans with a view to making them shine.
"Softly, softly! How would you like to have your own face rubbed in that fashion ?" admonished Katherine; and then, finishing her preparations, she stood up in the boat in readiness to help the poor man through his last stage to safety.

"Please throw me that oar," she said.
Phil took up the oar, and pitched it with great dexterity, so that it fell close to the boat.
Katherine picked it up, making a little grimace of disgust at its filthiness; then, wiping the worst of the mud off on the nearest clump of rushes, she proceeded to lash both oars together with the other end of the rope that was tied to Phil.
"Are you ready ?" she asked sharply, for the man still knelt gasping and panting, and seemed to have no power to help himself.
Aided by Phil he rose slowly to his feet, then said in a hoarse voice: "I don't think I can walk that bridge." "You will have to do it, or stay where you are until we can row round to Seal Cove to bring assistance for you.

Even then it may be hours before help can reach you, for the fishermen are all out to-day, and Mr.Ferrars is away also, as he has had to go to Akimiski to-day with Mr.Selincourt and his daughter." There was contempt in Katherine's tone now, and she meant it to be so.

If the man had a scrap of courage in him, she must fan it into active life, but if he were a poltroon, pure and simple, then she must do the best she could and leave the result.
To her delight, however, he lifted his head with an angry jerk.