His refuge, however, was a sturdy oak, whose top was fully twenty feet above him, and, like its kind, was abundantly supplied with strong branches, so near each other that it was not difficult for the father to climb to a safe point, where he was confident the furious waters could never reach him.
Having seated himself in a better position than before, he surveyed his surroundings with some degree of composure.
“Delia,” he called, “I obsarve ye are there yit.”
“I’m thankful that yer words are the thruth, and if ye kaap on climbing ye’ll be in the clouds by morning.”
Now, while the rising torrent had proven of great assistance in one way to Terry and his infant child, it threatened a still graver peril to the mother and Maggie, who remained on the roof.
The house, being of wood, was liable to be lifted from its foundations and carried in sections down-stream. In that event it would seem that nothing could save the couple from immediate drowning.
Neither the husband nor wife thought of this calamity until she called out, under the stress of her new fear:
“Terry, the owld building can’t stand this.”
“What do ye maan, me darling?”
“I faal it moving under me as though its getting onaisy—oh! we’re afloat!”