“O, yes; but God knows ... God will not expect...”
“Surely He will feel in some way as they do about us,” said Mildred, remembering and repeating the verse Pastor Dendel had taught her. “‘Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.’”
“‘For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.’” So Oliver continued the psalm.
“There comes the sun!” exclaimed Mildred, happy to greet some one familiar object amidst this strange scene.
The scene hardly appeared the same when the sun, after first peeping above the hills like a golden star, flamed up to its full size, and cast a broad glittering light over the wide waters, and into the very eyes of the children. They felt the warmth too, immediately; and it was very cheering. The eastern hills now almost disappeared in the sun’s blaze; and those to the west shone very clearly; and the southern ridge near Gainsborough, looked really but a little way off. The children knew, however, that there were three full miles between them and any land, except their Red-hill, and a few hillocks which peeped above the flood in the Levels: and there was no sign of a boat, far or near. Oliver checked a sigh, when he had convinced himself of this; and began to look what had become of the people they knew in the Levels.
Neighbour Gool’s dwelling stood low; and nothing was now to be seen of it but a dark speck, which might be the top of a chimney. It was possible that the whole family might have escaped; for Gool and his wife were to be at Haxey yesterday; and they might there hear of the mischief intended or done to the sluices, in time to save the rest of the household. Some of the roofs of the hamlet of Sandtoft stood above the waters; and the whole upper part of the chapel used by the foreigners; and many might easily have found a refuge there. Further off, a conspicuous object was the elegant crocketed spire of one of the beautiful Lincolnshire churches, standing high, as if inviting those who were dismayed to come and save themselves in the air from the dangers of the waters. Oliver wondered whether any sufferers were now watching the sunrise from the long ridge of the church-roof, or from the windows of the spire.
One of the most curious sights was the fleets of haystacks that were sailing along in the courses of the currents. As the smaller stacks were sometimes shot forward rapidly, and whirled round by an eddy, while a large stately stack followed forwards, performing the same turns of the voyage, Mildred compared them to a duck and her ducklings in the pond, and Oliver to a great ship voyaging with a fleet of small craft. They saw sights far more sorrowful than this. They grieved over the fine large trees—some in full leaf—that they saw tumbling about in the torrents which cut through the stiller waters; but it was yet worse to see dead cows, horses, pigs, and sheep carried past—some directly through the garden, or over the spot where the mill had stood. There were also thatched roofs carried away entire; and many a chest, chair, and cow-rack—showing the destruction that had gone on during the night. While the distant scene was all bright and lovely in the sunrise, these nearer objects, thickly strewn in the muddy waters, were ugly and dismal; and Oliver saw that it did him and his sister no good to watch them. He started, and said they must not be idle any longer.
Just then Ailwin called from the stairs,—
“I say, Oliver, the cow is alive. I heard her low, I’m certain.”
“I am afraid it was only George,” said Mildred. “He was lowing like the cow, a minute ago.”