“Yes, very fast. I have been measuring, and it has risen a foot since I last looked. I hope it will not be such a big freshet as to wash us out.”
“It couldn’t do that, could it? I shouldn’t suppose it could ever reach this far.”
“No, but it might do damage to the garden.”
“I hope it won’t; we have such a good start.” Agnes looked out anxiously between the fringes of willows.
“We won’t borrow trouble, anyhow,” said Parker, cheerfully.
“Best not. Mother used to say that sometimes trouble is a blessing in disguise, and even if the freshet does harm in one direction, it may do good in another.”
“That is certainly a cheerful view to take of it,” said Parker, laughing. And he passed on.
“Two years since I have seen my mother,” thought Agnes, “and I am seventeen. Oh, when will she come? I wonder if the freshet will be a help or a hindrance to her coming. Ah, it is getting worse! I see the flood is bringing down all sorts of things. I must go down nearer when I have finished this.”
Higher and higher rose the flood, all day and all night, and by the next morning river and run were one sheet of tossing, plunging water. The house stood in a little hollow, but beyond it rose a hill which descended precipitously on the other side to the river. Around the foot of the hill wound the run whose farther bank rose again to the edge of the river; the bank, not so high as the opposite one, was now covered. It was sure to be safe on the higher hill. The house was a little above the level of the water, but the garden on the hillside was encroached upon.
“It is getting pretty close,” said Parker, as Agnes joined him; “just a little more and I am afraid we shall have to move out.”