The river was swollen with last night's rain. It had risen to the top of the boating-stairs. Once more the house was standing in a muddy swamp, from which the tall fuchsia trees looked down disconsolate on the buried garden. It was past anybody's power to get at the store-room window. In short, the river had taken possession, and would effectually keep out all other intruders.
Edwin chose himself a seat among the ruins, and turned out his pockets in quest of a little bit of pipe-clay which once found a lodging amongst their heterogeneous contents. He wrote with the remaining corner, which he was happy enough to find had not yet crumbled to dust, "Lee, senior, waiting by lake, badly hurt, wants food and help."
He had fixed upon the shutter of the hay-loft window for his tablet, and made his letters bold and big enough to strike the eye at a considerable distance. He tried to make them look as if some man had written them, thinking they would command more attention. Then he hunted about for the piece of loose board Hal had charged them to bring back.
Edwin wrenched it off from the front of the hayloft, and discovered a heap of mangel-wurzel in the corner. He snatched up one and began to eat it, as if he were a sheep, and then wondered if he had done right. But he felt sure Ottley would say yes.
He balanced the board on his head, but found it impossible to mount Beauty, and equally difficult to make him follow a master with head-gear of such an extraordinary size. So he had to drive Beauty on before him, and when he reached the white pines Lawford was gone.
"He ought to have waited for me," thought Edwin, indignantly. "How can I get across the bush with this board? The men care nothing about me; they drive me along or they leave me behind to follow as I can, just as it happens. It is too bad, a great deal too bad!"
Beauty heard the despairing tone, and turning softly round, tilted the board backwards in spite of Edwin's efforts to stop him.
There was no such thing as getting it into position again. All Edwin could do was to mark the spot and leave it lying on the ground. Then he jumped on Beauty and trotted off to the tent, for the rain which Hal had predicted was beginning fast. The sodden canvas flapped heavily in the storm-wind. The tent-poles were loosened in the softened mud, and seemed ready to fall with every gust, as Edwin rode up disheartened and weary, expecting to find Lawford had arrived before him. No such thing. Hal was worn out with waiting, and was very cross.
It is only the few who can stand through such days of repeated disaster with patience and temper unexhausted. There has been some schooling in adversity before men attain to that. Edwin was taking his lesson early in life, but he had not learned it yet.
Hal would have it Edwin had lost himself, and called him a young fool for not sticking close to his companion, who was no doubt looking for him.