As the two of them hurried along the towpath a barge came chuntering past. “Been in for a bit of a dip, have you, son?” laughed the man at the wheel. But Patrick paid him no attention – he had his eye on that swan. He felt a little more confident though, because he had the lollipop stick to wave now. As it turned out he didn’t need it. The swan moved aside as they came hurrying towards him and swam out into the canal, riding the wake of the barge. Then they were up the steps from the towpath and across the road into the school playground.

Patrick knew he was already late the moment he walked through the door. There was no one about. They’d all be in assembly by now. He’d be in really big trouble. He felt like running off home there and then. But he couldn’t, because Mr Boots had him firmly by the hand and was walking him down the corridor towards the hall. He could hear Mrs Brightwell’s voice now. She was making one of her important announcements, and by the sound of her she was in full flow and already cross about something. Not a good moment to interrupt her, Patrick thought. Mr Boots stopped at the door to straighten his tie and smooth down his hair – he didn’t have much of it, but what he had he liked to keep immaculate. Then, clearing his throat, he threw open the double doors, and in they went.

Everyone turned and gawped. Up on the platform Mrs Brightwell stopped in mid-sentence. A deep hush fell around them as they walked the entire length of the hall up towards Mrs Brightwell. Every step Patrick took seemed to squelch louder than the one before, and all the way the puppies in the sack were squealing and squeaking.

Mrs Brightwell did not look at all pleased. “Mr Boots,” she said, “what is this? Why is Patrick standing there dripping all over my assembly hall? What on earth has happened?”

“Actually, it’s a bit of a long story, Mrs Brightwell.” Mr Boots sounded typically self-important. “You had to see it to believe it. There I am, just minding my own business on the crossing outside the school, when I hear this splash. So I look over the bridge, and what do I see? Only young Patrick here in the canal swimming like a fish. Well of course I think he’s fallen in, and he’s drowning. So I start running, don’t I? I mean I’ve got to save him, haven’t I? But then I see he’s not drowning at all. He’s got hold of this sack and he’s swimming like billy-o for the bank. And I’m thinking to myself: You’re off your tiny rocker, my son, taking a dip in that filthy old canal just to fetch out a dirty old plastic sack. Luckily for young Patrick here I was on hand to help him out, cos he wouldn’t have made it on his own, that’s for sure.”