Bidding them good-bye she reached the bank, and climbed down it,
stumbling in the frozen mud and pits of ice till she reached the stiff
reeds at the bank.
The river had floes of ice upon it, green ice which swung and caught
among the reeds at the edge. "It is thin," she thought, pushing her
shoe through it, "it can't prevent the boat from crossing the river."
Yet she was anxious.
There on the other side was the little hut, the steps, the boat tied to
the stone and held rigid in the ice. A shaggy dog ran by her feet to the
river's edge and barked. Feet came clambering down the bank and a
workman followed the dog, with a bag of tools and a basket. He walked up
to the river, and putting his hands in a trumpet to his mouth called in
a huge voice: "Un passant, Margot! Margot!" Fanny remembered her whistle
and blew that too.
There was no sign of life, and the little hut looked as before, like a
brown dog asleep in the sun. Fanny turned to the man, ready to share her
anxiety with him, but he had sat down on the bank and was retying a
bootlace that had come undone.
Margot never showed herself at the hut window, at the hut door. When
Fanny turned back to whistle again she saw her standing up in the boat,
which, freed, was drifting out towards them--saw her scatter the ice
with her oar--and the boat, pushed upstream, came drifting down towards
them in a curve to hit the bank at their feet.
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