“It’s just the same at the back,” she said. “I don’t see that we can do anything but take some of the things upstairs if it keeps on. I wish it would leave off raining.”
“Your father always said we should be flooded one of these days, standing in a hole as we do,” said her mother disconsolately.
But instead of leaving off, it went on harder than ever, the water rushing down the hill and pouring into the house with such force that Mrs. Kayll, who had taken the baby from Bob, losing her nerve, opened the front door and dashed up the steps to the level of the road, calling to the children to follow. Bob and Madge ran after, to find that even on the pavement they were standing in an inch or two of water, while the rain beat on them fiercely.
“Look, mother!” cried Bob excitedly. “It’s rising fast, it’s a foot deep at the very least in our parlour. And oh! what a shame! Our nice dinner will be spoiled!”
“There’s one comfort,” said Madge, who looked pale and frightened, “the carpet’s so bad already that being soaked can’t make it any worse.”
Mrs. Kayll did not answer. She was quite overcome by this new misfortune, and scarcely seemed to know what to do. Half mechanically she moved higher up the hill, trying by turning up her dress-skirt over him to shield the baby from the wet, lest, weak as he was after his illness, he should take a bad cold and be worse again. Someone, seeing this, put a big umbrella into her hand, from under which she looked back to see her little home getting every second more and more deeply immersed.
Her more fortunate neighbours, whose houses stood high and dry, came running out of their doors and begged her to go in with them.
“All right, mother. You and Madgie take baby in out of the wet,” said Bob eagerly. “It won’t hurt me, and I can let you know as soon as it’s any good for you to come back.”
Mrs. Kayll hesitated, but the baby was frightened, and as another flash of lightning was followed by a deafening peal of thunder the little thing began to cry. This plaintive sound brought her more to herself. Whatever happened to the house and its contents, baby must be taken care of, and not allowed to catch cold. And with that thought, she yielded to the entreaties of a woman she knew, who had taken her by the arm and was gently trying to draw her in, and merely saying, “Come, Madge,” disappeared from the sight of the curious eyes that were watching her from the windows on the opposite side of the way.
Madge went too, glad enough to get into shelter away from the beating rain and the flashes of lightning, of which she was somewhat afraid.