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Now the boat had sunk so low that Marmaduke was afraid it would disappear forever, with all the children on it. But there was no danger, for when the water in the Lock was even with the water on the lower side of the Canal it stopped falling, and the “Mary Ellen” stopped, too. At least, there was no danger for the children, but there was for Master Marmaduke, he had leaned over so far, watching that boat go down, down, down.

All-of-a-sudden there was a splash. It was certainly to be expected that one of the thirteen children had fallen in, but no!– It–was–Marmaduke!

Down, down, down, he sank in the gurgly brown water. Then he came up, spluttering and choking.

“Help, help!” he cried.

Then under he went again.

But the Round Fat Rosy Woman had seen him.

“Quick, Hiram!” she shouted to her husband in a voice that sounded like a man’s, “there’s a boy fallen overboard!”

“Where?” asked the man at the tiller, still keeping the pipe in his mouth.

She pointed into the brown water.

“Right there–there’s where he went down.”

Perhaps the Man With the Red Shirt and the Pipe was so used to having his children fall into the coal, or the Canal, or something, that he didn’t think it was a serious matter, for he came to the side of the “Mary Ellen” very slowly, just as Marmaduke was coming up for the third time.

And that is a very important time, for, they say, if you go down after that you won’t come up ’til you’re dead. Whether it was true or not, Marmaduke didn’t know, for he had never been drowned before, and no one who had, had ever come back to tell him about it. Anyway, he wasn’t thinking much, only throwing his arms around in the water, trying vainly to keep afloat.

The Round Fat Rosy Woman grew quite excited, as well she might, and she shouted again to the Man With the Red Shirt and the Pipe:

“Don’t stand there like a wooden Injun in front of a cigar-store. Hustle or the boy’ll drown!”

Then he seemed to wake up, for he ran to the gunwale of the boat, and he jumped over with his shoes and all his clothes on. And, strange to say, he still kept that pipe in his mouth. However, that didn’t matter so very much, for he grabbed Marmaduke by the collar with one hand and swam towards the “Mary Ellen” with the other. The woman threw a rope over the side; he grasped it with his free hand, and the woman drew them up–she certainly was strong–and in the shake of a little jiffy they were standing on board, safe but dripping a thousand little rivers from their clothes on the deck. The man didn’t seem to mind that a bit, but was quite disturbed to find that his pipe had gone out.

“Come, Mother,” said he to the Round Fat Rosy Woman, “get us some dry duds and a match.”

And quick as a wink she hustled them into the little house which they called a cabin, and gave Marmaduke a pair of blue overalls and a little blue jumper which belonged to one of the thirteen children. Of course, she found the right size, with so many to choose from. His own clothes, she hung on the line, with all the little pairs of pants and the skirts, to dry in the breeze.

Then she put the kettle on the cook stove and in another jiffy she was pouring out the tea.

“M–m–m–m,” said Marmaduke. He meant to say,–“Make mine ‘cambric,’ please,” for he knew his mother wouldn’t have wanted him to take regular tea, but his Forty White Horses galloped so he couldn’t make himself heard.

“There, little boy,” said the Round Fat Rosy Woman, “don’t talk. Just wrap yourself in this blanket and drink this down, and you’ll feel better.”

It did taste good even if it was strong, and it warmed him all the way down under the blue jumper, and the Forty White Horses stopped their galloping, and while the men were hitching the mules up again, and the “Mary Ellen” was drifting through the lower pair of gates out of the Lock, he fell fast asleep.