“I don’t mind that, very much,” said Mildred, “but how do you think we are to get away, with this great river between us and home?”
“We shall see what father does,” said Oliver. “He is further off still, on the other side.”
“But what is all this water? When will it go away?”
“I am afraid the embankments have burst. And yet the weather has been fine enough lately. Perhaps the sluices are broken up.”
Seeing that Mildred did not understand the more for what he said, he explained—
“You know, all these Levels were watery grounds once; more wet than the carr yonder. Well,—great clay banks were made to keep out the Humber waters, over there, to the north-east, and on the west and north-west yonder, to keep two or three rivers there from overflowing the land. Then several canals and ditches were cut, to drain the land; and there are great gates put up, here and there, to let the waters in and out, as they are wanted. I am afraid those gates are gone, or the clay banks broken down, so that the sea and the rivers are pouring in all the water they have.”
“But when will it be over? Will it ever run off again? Shall we ever get home again?”
“I do not know anything about it. We must wait, and watch what father will do. See! What is this coming?”
“A dead horse!” exclaimed Mildred. “Drowned, I suppose. Don’t you think so, Oliver?”
“Drowned, of course.—Do you know, Mildred,” he continued, after a silence, during which he was looking towards the sheds in the yard, while his sister’s eyes were following the body of the horse as it was swept along, now whirled round in an eddy, and now going clear over the hedge into the carr,—“do you know, Mildred,” said Oliver, “I think father will be completely ruined by this flood.”