The exclamation was true. The little structure, after resisting the giant tugging at it as though it were a sentient thing, yielded when it could hold out no longer. It popped up a foot or two like a cork, as if to recover its gravity, and the next moment started down the torrent.
It was at this juncture that Terry uttered the despairing cry which brought Dick Halliard and Jim McGovern hurrying to the spot on the shore directly opposite.
But unexpected good fortune attended the shifting of the little building from its foundations. Swinging partly around, it drifted against the tree in which Terry had taken refuge with his child. His wife and Maggie were so near that he could touch them with his outstretched hand.
“Climb into the limbs,” he said, “for the owld shebang will soon go to pieces.”
He could give little help, since he had to keep one arm about Katie, but the wife was cool and collected, now that she fully comprehended her danger. The projecting limbs were within convenient reach, and it took her but a minute or two to ensconce herself beside her husband and other child.
Quick as was the action it was not a moment too soon, for she was hardly on her perch and safely established by the side of all that was dear to her when the house broke into a dozen fragments, the roof itself disintegrating, and every portion quickly vanished among the tree-tops in the darkness.
“Helloa, Terry, are you alive?” called Dick Halliard.
“We’re all alive, Hiven be praised!” replied the Irishman, “and are roosting among the tree-tops.”
“It will be all right with you then,” was the cheery response, “for I don’t think the flood will rise any higher.”
“Little odds if it does, for we haven’t raiched the top story of our new risidence yit.”