The water flew
all over the two fishers who stood by its side; Preston awe-struck for
the moment, Daisy white as death. But before either of them could speak
or move, Sam's head reappeared above water.
"O get him out! get him out, Preston!" was Daisy's distressed cry.
Preston spoke nothing, but he snatched a long stick that lay near and
held it out to Sam; and so in a few minutes drew him to the shore and
helped him out. Sam went to a little distance and stood dripping with
water from head to foot; he did not shake himself as a Newfoundland dog
would have done.
"Are you hurt, Sam?" said Preston.
"No, sir--" Sam answered, in a tone as if he felt very wet.
"Well, you've cleared the line for me at last," said Preston. "All's
well that ends well. Hollo!--here's my hook gone,--broken off, float and
all. Where's that basket, Sam?"
"It's below, sir."
"Below? where? just fetch it here, will you? _This_ misfortune can be
mended."
Sam moved off, dripping from every inch of him. "O Preston," said Daisy,
"he's all wet as he can be--do let him go right down to that house and
dry himself! We can get the basket.
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