"Well, there must be something we can do, Belle!"
"I've been trying to think," said Belle, slowly. "A bread board wouldn't float, you know, even if the baby would sit on it. We've not got a barrel—and a box—"
"There must be boxes!" cried the other woman.
"Yes; but the least bit of a tip would half fill a box with water. No—" Belle shook her head. "I'm not a good enough swimmer."
Another short silence.
"Belle, does this river rise every winter?"
"Why, yes, I suppose it does. I know one year Emville was flooded and the shops moved upstairs. There was a family named Wescott living up near here then—" Belle did not pursue the history of the Westcott family, and Miss Carter knew why.
"Oh, I think it is criminal for people to build in a place like this!" Miss Carter burst out passionately. "They're safe enough—oh, certainly!" she went on with bitter emphasis. "But they leave us—"
"It shows how little you know us, thinking we'd run any risk with Timmy—" Belle said stiffly; but she interrupted herself to say sharply: "Here's the water!"
She went to the door and opened it. The still waters of Beaver Creek were lapping the porch steps.