It was no sae deep, but the grass and the weeds were verra thick, and they closed aboot me the way the arms of an octopus mich and it was scary work gettin’ free.  When I did my head and shoulders showed above the water, and that was all.

“Save me, Mac!” I cried, half in jest, half in earnest.  But Mac couldna help me.  The boat had got a strong push from me when I went over, and was ten or twelve feet awa’.  Mac was tryin’ to do all he could, but ye canna do muckle wi’ a flat bottomed boat when ye’re but the ane oar, and he gied up at last.  Then he laughed.

“Man, Harry, but ye’re a comical sicht!” he said.  “Ye should appear so and write a song to go wi’ yer looks!  Noo, ye’ll not droon, an’, as ye’re so wet already, why don’t ye wade ower and get the oar while ye’re there?”

He was richt, heartless though I thought him.  So I waded over to where the oar rested on the surface of the water, as if it were grinning at me.  It was tricksy work.  I didna ken hoo deep the loch micht grow to be suddenly; sometimes there are deep holes in such places, that ye walk into when ye’re the least expecting to find one.

I was glad enough when I got back to the boat wi’ the oar.  I started to climb in.

“Gie’s the oar first,” said Mac, cynically.  “Ye micht fall in again, Harry, and I’ll just be makin’ siccar that ane of us twa gets hame the nicht!”

But I didna fall in again, and, verra wet and chilly, I was glad to do the rowing for a bit.  We did no more fishing that day, and Mac laughed at me a good deal.  But on the way hame we passed a field where some boys were playing football, and the ball came along, unbenknownst to either of us, and struck Mac on the nose.  It set it to bleeding, and Mac lost his temper completely and gave chase, with the blood running down and covering his shirt.

It was my turn to laugh at him, and yell ken that I took full advantage o’t!  Mac ran fast, and he caught one of the youngsters who had kicked the ball at him and cuffed his ear.  That came near to makin’ trouble, too, for the boy’s father came round and threatened to have Mac arrested.  But a free seat for the show made him a friend instead of a foe.

Speakin’ o’ arrests, the wonder is to me that Mac and I ever stayed oot o’ jail.  Dear knows we had escapades enough that micht ha’ landed us in the lock up!  There was a time, soon after the day we went fishing, when we made friends wi’ some folk who lived in a capital house with a big fruit garden attached to it.  They let us lodgings, though it was not their habit to do so, and we were verra pleased wi’ ourselves.

We sat in the sunshine in our room, having our tea.  Ootside the birds were singing in the trees, and the air came in gently.

“Oh, it’s good to be alive!” said Mac.

But I dinna ken whether it was the poetry of the day or the great biscuit he had just spread wi’ jam that moved him!  At any rate there was no doot at a’ as to what moved a great wasp that flew in through the window just then.  It wanted that jam biscuit, and Mac dropped it.  But that enraged the wasp, and it stung Mac on the little finger.  He yelled.  The girl who was singing in the next room stopped; the birds, frightened, flew away.  I leaped up—­I wanted to help my suffering friend.