And then Mrs. Noah poked her head out of a little window in the Ark. "Listen to Mr. Noah, my dear, for he was certainly right the first time, and why shouldn't he be now?"
Mr. Noah smiled and walked across the table towards a little yellow hen. "Shoo," he cried, as the contrary fowl tried to dodge around a toy automobile. "Shoo there. You know you can't swim like Mrs. Duck, so why don't you have some sense and get aboard out of harm's way?"
As he finished speaking, water began to pour over the windowsill, and soon the nursery floor was ankle deep. Marjorie stood on a chair and, climbing upon the table, walked over to the Ark. On her way she picked up her rag doll, Maria Jane, and the little toy automobile.
"Hurry, my dear," cried Mr. Noah, "here comes the water over the edge of the table."
As it was, Maria Jane was splashed a bit, and so was the automobile before it was pushed through the narrow doorway, for the Ark was rolling from side to side in rather a dangerous manner.
"Make everything tight. Close the hatches and the portholes!" commanded Capt. Noah (for now that they were actually afloat, this seemed the proper title for him), and in a few minutes it was comfortable and snug inside.
And then, all of a sudden, a big wave carried them over the windowsill and out into the garden. But it didn't look very much like the garden, for only the tops of the rose bushes could be seen, and the roses rested on the water like pond lilies. And then, away sailed the Ark, across the garden, over the fence, down the road, until it reached an open space.
"The ocean!" cried Mrs. Noah.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Marjorie, "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Noah, I mean it's Uncle Spencer's meadow. Why, there's Tim! Let's save him!" And Marjorie ran down to the lower floor of the Ark and commenced to unfasten the door.