It was not an easy job, for she could see nothing and floundered terribly; but he seemed to like it, and half led, half carried her over a considerable space of uneven ground, until he came to the door of a small house, where stood an elderly woman with a lantern.
"Dickory! Dickory!" shouted the woman, "what is that you are bringing home?
Is it a great fish ?" "It is a young woman," said the boy, "but she is as wet as a fish." "Woman!" cried good Dame Charter.

"What mean you, Dickory, is she dead ?" "Not dead, Mother Charter," said Kate, who now stood, unassisted, in the light of the lantern, "but in woeful case, and more like to startle you than if I were the biggest fish.

I am Mistress Kate Bonnet, just out of the river between here and the town.

No, I will not enter your house, I am not fit; I will stand here and tell my tale." "Dickory!" shouted Dame Charter, "take the lantern and run to the kitchen cabin, where ye'll make a fire quickly." Away ran Dickory, and standing in the darkness, Kate Bonnet told her tale.

It was not a very satisfactory tale, for there was a great part of it which Kate herself did not understand, but it sufficed at present for the good dame, who had known the girl when she was small, and who was soon busily engaged in warming her by her fire, refreshing her with food, and in fortifying her against the effects of her cold bath by a generous glass of rum, made, the good woman earnestly asserted, from sugar-cane grown on Master Bonnet's plantation.
Early the next morning came Dickory from the kitchen, where he had made a fire (before that he had been catching some fish), and on a rude bench by the house door he saw Kate Bonnet.