"She must go!" said Evesham. "You must all go. I'll be back in half an hour—"
"I shall not go," Dorothy said; "the boys and I must stay and look after the stock."
"What's that?" Evesham was listening to a trickling of water outside the door.
"Oh! it's from the kitchen! The door's blown open, I guess!"
Dorothy looked out into the passage; a strong wind was blowing in from the kitchen, where the water covered the floor and washed against the chimney.
"This is a nice state of things! What's all this wood here for?"
"The wood-shed's under water, you know."
"You must get yourself ready, Dorothy! I'll come for your mother first in the chaise."
"I cannot go," she said; "I don't believe there is any danger. This old house has stood for eighty years; it's not likely this is the first big rain in all that time." Dorothy's spirits had risen. "Besides, I have a family of orphans to take care of! See here," she said, stooping over a basket in the shadow of the chimney. It was the "hospital tent," and as she uncovered it, a brood of belated chickens stretched out their thin necks with plaintive peeps.
Dorothy covered them with her hands, and they nestled with cozy twitterings into silence.