“No, I know it.”
“Supper,” Mr. Fenton called, and the boys made their way back to the house. They were very thoughtful as they took their places, and the food was eaten in silence.
“Any more turkey’s stolen, Uncle Norman?”
“Some were taken last night,” the man answered. Just then the telephone rang and Aunt Belle answered.
“The Norman’s are going to stay here all night,” she said quietly. “Their house is flooded above the kitchen.”
That evening Stumble Inn was filled to the brim with neighbors. Belated supper was served to refugees who straggled in, and the two boys turned to and helped. They carried down cots, made beds, washed dishes, turned horses into the pasture, and drove cattle into the meadow. It was late at night when they were repairing a place in the fence to be sure that the nervous stock did not break through and get away. When the job was finished, they made their way back to the house, and all along the road they could see tents pitched, or families gathered about their cars or wagons prepared to sleep out of doors. The protection they had was frail and if another storm should come up suddenly half their worldly goods would be swept into Champlain.
In spite of their dilemma the Vermonters were facing their troubles quietly and without a whimper. Although there were as many as fifty people within earshot, hardly a sound could be heard. Then a child, whose sleeping quarters was under the big maple, cried in fright. The mother tried to hush it, but the little fellow’s terror did not diminish. Without an instant’s hesitation, Bob leaned over the wagon.
“Don’t be afraid, little fellow. You come on in and sleep—”
“There isn’t any room in your aunt’s house, Bob,” the woman answered. “She would have taken us if she could.”
“Come along anyway,” Bob insisted. He picked the boy up in his arms, while Jim offered to help the woman.