When we got there Mr. Man was half-way across in some kind of a boat he had picked up. “We kin hold him off,” says I; “there hain’t but one of him.” “Maybe,” says Mark. “Scoot back and git that l-l-long pole layin’ near George.” I done so and got there when Mr. Man was about fifty feet off, and then we all stood up and looked at him and waited. He had his back toward us and didn’t see us till he turned around to take his bearings, and then he turned ’way around and squinted and says, “Good mornin’.” “Good mornin’,” says Mark. “Campin’?” says the man. “Not exactly,” says Mark. “Anybody on the island?” “We b-b-be,” says Mark. “See a man sneakin’ around?” “One in a rowboat,” says Mark, “with a f-f-fancy vest on.” “Meanin’ me?” “Calc’late so.” “Say, young feller, you’re about the size and weight of somebody that sat on my stummick last night. By any chance was you him?” “I was,” says Mark. “You’ll excuse me for not recognizin’ your face,” says the man, cheerful-like, “but we was in the dark.” “We hain’t in the dark now,” says Mark, like he meant more than he said. “Meanin’, I s’pose, that you’ve found that Piggins feller? I hain’t clear what you want with him, nor why you’re mixin’ into private business, though I was warned to look out for a fat kid that stuttered.” “Um!” says Mark. “I’m comin’ ashore,” says the man. “I hain’t sure you be,” says Mark. “Jest watch,” says the man, and he began to row again. I waited till he got close enough to reach with the pole and then I give him a good shove that made his rickety boat rock like the mischief. He turned sort of green and let out a bellow like a calf that seen some kind of a beef ghost. “Hey! quit that! Want to drownd a feller?” he yelled. “F-f-figgered on givin’ you a little swim,” says Mark. “Gosh! boy, I can’t swim a stroke! Go easy there!” “Um!” says Mark. “Can’t swim, eh? I want to know. Sure you can’t swim?” “Give you my word. Honest Injun. Cross my heart.” “Um!” Mark sat down on the mud bank and thought a second. “Let him l-l-land,” says he to me, which I done, not willing, but because a fellow has to obey orders even if he don’t agree with them. Mr. Man got out on shore, and quick as a wink Mark jumped up and give his boat a shove out into the current. It went swinging off out of reach, and the man looked after it like somebody had just up and stole his best friend. He was mad, too. “Say, what you mean, anyhow? How be I goin’ to git off’n this island?” “Why,” says Mark, grinning friendly and cordial, “you kin w-w-wait till winter and walk off on the ice.” “Hain’t there another boat?” “There is,” says Mark, winking at me, “but there won’t be long.” I got what he meant in a jiffy and off I scooted. It wasn’t five seconds before George’s boat was floating off down-stream and everybody on that island that couldn’t swim was marooned. “Now,” says Mark, “let’s be c-c-comfortable.”