He clambered along over the rocks among the trees on the steep bank, but he had no sooner got within seeing distance than he stopped short and called excitedly to John close behind him, “It’s gone! It’s gone! The whole thing’s washed away,—dam, and bridge, and mill,—all gone to smash. And see! the gorge at the fall’s all choked up with big timbers. See the water spout and splash about ’em.”
It was a grand sight—the mighty tumble of waters from the precipice above, foaming down into the gorge, then broken in the narrow, almost perpendicular, chasm into a thousand flying sprays, whence the mists arose as from a monster, steaming cauldron. And there the boys saw a rainbow which they had looked for in vain before. They stayed nearly an hour, fascinated by the turmoil of the flood.
“I suppose we’ve got to think about packing up,” remarked John at last, with a sigh.
“It’s a pity we can’t stay around here another week,” said Harry.
They climbed slowly up the wooded bank to the tent, pulled it to pieces, rolled all their belongings into snug bundles, put on shoes and stockings and went over to the house. As they approached they heard sounds of angry dispute. They turned the corner at the barn and stopped. La Fay was standing in the kitchen doorway. In the path before him stood a woman. She had on a pretty bonnet trimmed with gay ribbons. Over her arm hung a light shawl. Her face was thin, and there were blue lines beneath her burning black eyes. She stood sharply erect.
“Move on!” thundered La Fay, “and never show yourself here again.”
“It’s Mrs. La Fay,” whispered Harry. “She’s come back.”
“Jules! Jules!” said the woman; and then her tones, either of excuse or pleading, dropped so low the boys did not catch the words.
“We’d better go back,” suggested John.
“I say I want to hear no more,” Jules continued fiercely. “The quicker you get off the premises, the better.”