So intent had the squire and Dick been in watching for the dawn, that the gradual cessation of the flowing water had passed unnoticed; but it was plain now that the surface of the wide expanse out of which the Toft rose, with the old Priory buildings a couple of miles away, was now unruffled by the wind, and that the current had ceased to flow.
But for this the party of rescue in the two punts would not have been able to reach the inundated farm, for it was only here and there that a firm place could be found for the poles, which generally sank deeply in the peat covered by the water to an average depth of about eight feet.
In the course of half an hour the boats were close up to the reed thatch of the great farm-house, a rope made fast to the chimney-stack, and Mrs Tallington, the farmer, Tom, a couple of maids and three men were transferred to the boats, all stiff and helpless with the cold.
“I don’t mind now,” said Tom, shivering as he spoke. “A boat isn’t much of a thing, but it will float, and all last night it seemed as if the old house was going to be swept away.”
“Are these your horses?” said Dick, pointing to a group of dejected-looking animals standing knee-deep in company with some cattle, about a quarter of a mile away.
“Yes, and our cows,” replied Tom, shivering. “Oh, I say, don’t talk; I’m so cold and hungry!”
All this time Hickathrift was diligently using the pole in the larger boat, and Dave leading the way in the other, both being well laden now, and progressing fairly fast toward the Toft, which stood up like an island of refuge in the midst of the vast lake, dotted here and there with the tops of trees. At times the poles touched a good firm tuft of heath or a patch of gravel, and the boat received a good thrust forward; at other times, when the bottom was soft, Hickathrift struck the water with it right and left as he stood up in the prow, using it as a kind of paddle.
Before they were half-way on their journey the sun came out from a cloud, just at the edge of the inundation; and with it and the prospect of warmth and food at the Priory, everybody’s spirits began to rise.
“Might have been worse, neighbour,” shouted the squire. “You sold all your sheep last week.”
“Ay,” said the farmer from Dave’s punt; “and we might all have been drowned. It’s a sore piece of business; but it shows a man what his neighbours are, and I won’t murmur, only say as you do, it might have been worse.”