We had not been there a minute before Hannibal and my father were beside us, and the waste of water all around.
“Not much too soon,” said my father, cheerfully. “Do you see, George?”
“Yes, father,” I said, feeling rather white, or as I suppose any one would feel if he were white, for the water was level now with the bottom of the window; “will it rise higher?”
“I am afraid so,” he said, gravely, as he looked sharply round at the various trees standing out of the water. “Yes,” he continued, with the firmness of one who has made his decision; “Morgan, you swim well, and the current sets in the right direction. If the house gives way—”
“Oh, but it won’t, sir; we made it too strong for that.”
“Then if the water compels us to leave here, do you think you can support your wife to that tree, if I swim beside and help you?”
“I will support her there, sir,” said Morgan, firmly.
“That’s right. Hannibal, you can easily reach there?”
“Yes, sah.”
“And you boys can, of course. We may have to take to that tree, for I think it will stand.”