He could sit upon the rock as long as his adversary could sit upon the ground.

In a moment of exasperation he had been upon the point of hurling the turtle into the lake, but had refrained, and now he was reconciled to a vigil which should last all night.
Llewellyn had met his match.
For fifty-seven minutes by his watch, Tom waited.

Then the tip end of Llewellyn's nose emerged slowly, cautiously, and remained stationary.
Eleven minutes of tense silence elapsed.
Then the tip end of Llewellyn's nose emerged a trifle more, stopped, started again and lo, his whole head and neck were out, craned stiffly upward toward the camp.
Tom did not move a muscle, he hardly breathed.

Soon the turtle's tail was sticking straight out and one forward claw was emerging slowly, doubtfully.
Silence.
Another claw emerged and the neck relaxed its posture of listening reconnoissance.

Then, presto, Llewellyn was waddling around like a lumbering old ferry boat and heading straight for the lake.