That gentleman, however, was from home, his place being taken by a lame son, who produced two oars which were not even distantly related to each other, remarking that his father was wore out with keeping the boat in order for the gentry, and none of them coming anigh her. When Wally demanded a baling-tin, he cast about him a wild glance which finally rested on an excellent tin dipper which presumably belonged to his mother. “Herself is away with the hins—let you take it,” he said, thankfully. “Hiven send she do not come back on me before you’d be gone!” With this pious hope echoing in their ears, the marauding party withdrew, Timsy racing ahead with the dipper, lest “herself” should make an untimely appearance and demand her cherished vessel. When Norah and Wally arrived at the boat he was baling furiously, and clung to his job until he was too breathless to argue the question further with Wally. A flat-bottomed boat, built on elementary principles, is not the easiest thing to empty. They tilted her sideways, getting very wet in the process, and wielded the dipper until it scraped dismally against the boards; but a large residue of water still lingered, defying anything but a pump or a bath-sponge, equipment which they lacked. When they restored her to an even keel the water slapped dismally across the sodden bottom boards. “I’m afraid we’ll never get her dry,” Wally said, ruefully. “Tell you what, Norah—I’ll put in a few bits of wood, and you can put your feet on them; that will keep them out of the water, at any rate.” Wood is scarce in Donegal. There was not a bit to be found except the tough lumps of bog-wood sticking out of the water, and of these Wally managed to secure enough for his purpose. “They aren’t lovely,” he said, looking at the uneven logs. “Still, they ought to keep your feet dry, and that’s something.” He worked the unwieldy boat round until her stern pointed to the shore, so that Norah could get in without being compelled to walk along the wet floor. Timsy hopped in, bare-legged and cheery, and they shoved off, moving gingerly among the half-submerged wood, which threatened momentarily to rip a hole in the rotten flooring. “I’d hate to say a word against Ireland,” Wally remarked. “But you’d wonder why they’d build the landing-stage in the very middle of a submerged forest.” “The stones did be a thrifle more convanient there.” Timsy offered as a solution. “Well—maybe. Still it would be no great lift to take them a little further,” said Wally. “Does the boat never get snagged, Timsy?”