They went on a dozen strokes or more, with much labour, until they touched something hard.
"My boat," said Dickory, in the lowest of whispers; "take hold of it." Kate did so, and he moved from her.

She knew that he was clambering into the boat, although she could not see or hear him.

Soon he took hold of her under her arms, and he lifted with the strength of a young lion, yet so slowly, so warily, that not a drop of water could be heard dripping from her garments.

And when she was drawn up high enough to help herself, he pulled her in, still warily and slowly.

Then he slipped to the bow and cast off the rope with which the canoe had been anchored.