But Rob interrupted, and with an air of tragedy, sang:—
"Oh, cats and pitchforks cease to rain
And trickle down my chilly spine."
Then, his mother coming in, he proceeded to tell about their "cruise," and the sad fate of his bundle.
"Oh, you might have been drowned in that horrid stream!" said Maud, dropping her guitar in consternation.
"About the only way a fellow can escape such a fate out-doors to-day is to jump into the river," said Clifford, in high good-humor. "Talk about the 'dry belt,'" he continued; "I hope that geographical girdle will soon prove all too short to span this western 'waste.'"
The colonel, who had just come in, said with an anxious face:—
"I am afraid the only dry belt left by morning will be the upstairs, unless this flood ceases soon."
At this announcement Mrs. Warlow and Maud flew into a panic, saying they would all be drowned; to which gloomy predictions the colonel and Clifford replied with arguments to the effect that the house being of stone would resist any flood, and all that was necessary to insure their safety, would be to retire to the upper story of the dwelling in case the water rose into the house; and the feminine portion of the household was soon reassured, and busied themselves preparing an early supper, while the stronger members of the family were busy carrying the furniture up to that place of refuge.
The books, pictures, carpets, and other "household goods," were soon beyond danger; but the old rosewood piano was a load which nearly defied their united efforts, though it, too, was successfully drawn up the stairway with the aid of block and tackle, and finally the store of provisions—a very slender store indeed—was carried to the upper rooms.
After the hasty supper, Clifford and Bob went to the stream, lantern in hand, to take a survey of the situation. They found the river lacked now but a foot of reaching the upper bank, and as it was still raining in torrents they realized the gravity of their position.