“Did you think I would not come?” said he. “I'm going to take you home with me, Dorothy,—you and your mother and the boys. It's not fit for you to be here alone.”
“Does thee know of any danger?”
“I know of none, but water's a thing you can't depend on. It's an ugly rain; older men than your father remember nothing like it.”
“I shall be glad to have mother go, and Jimmy; the house is very damp. It's an awful night for her to be out, though.”
“She must go!” said Evesham. “You must all go. I'll be back in half an hour”—
“I shall not go,” Dorothy said; “the boys and I must stay and look after the stock.”
“What's that?” Evesham was listening to a trickling of water outside the door.
“Oh! it's from the kitchen. The door has blown open, I guess.”
Dorothy looked out into the passage; a strong wind was blowing in from the kitchen, where the water covered the floor and washed against the chimney.
“This is a nice state of things! What's all this wood here for?”