“Some more I’ve rescued,” he said succinctly.
Miss Polliter turned to him a face which was bright with interest and enterprise.
“Splendid, dear boy,” she said happily, “splendid.... I’ll soon have them warmed and dried—or wait—is the flood rising?”
William said it was.
“Well, then, the best thing would be to go to the very top of the house where we shall be safer than here!”
Determinedly she picked up the infants, went out on to the landing and mounted the attic stairs. William followed holding the puppy who managed during the journey to tear off and (presumably—as they were never seen again) swallow his pocket flap and three buttons from his coat. Then Miss Polliter returned for the pig and William followed with a hen. The pig was very recalcitrant and Miss Polliter said “Naughty,” to him quite sternly once or twice. Then they returned for the other hens. One hen escaped and in the intoxication of sudden liberty flew squawking loudly out of a skylight.
In the attic bedroom where Miss Polliter now assembled her little company of refugees she lit the gas fire and started her great task of organisation.
“I’ll dry these dear children first,” she said. “Now go down, dear boy, and see if there is anyone else in need of your aid.”
William went downstairs slowly. Something of his rapture and excitement was leaving him. Cold reality was placing its icy grip upon his heart. He began to wonder what would happen to him when they discovered the nature and cause of his “flood,” and whether the state to which the refugees were reducing the house would also be laid to his charge. He waded out to the hose pipe and had another fruitless struggle with the tap. Then he looked despondently up and down the road. The “flood” was spreading visibly, but there was no one in sight. He returned slowly and thoughtfully to Miss Polliter. Miss Polliter looked brisk and happy. She had apparently forgotten both her nervous system and its need of perpetual nourishment. She was having a game with the infants who were now partially dried and crowing with delight. She had managed to drive the hens into a corner of the room and had secured them there by a chest of drawers. She had tied the pig by a piece of string to the washhand-stand and it was now lying down quite placidly, engaged in eating the carpet. One hen had escaped from its “coop” and was running round a table pursued by or pursuing (it was impossible to say which) the puppy. Miss Polliter was playing pat-a-cake with the drying infants and seemed to be enjoying it as much as the infants. She greeted William gaily.
“Don’t look so sad, dear boy,” she said. “I think that even though the river continues to rise all night we shall be safe here—quite safe here—and I daresay you can find something for these dear children to eat when they get hungry. I don’t need anything. I’m quite all right. I can easily go without anything till morning. Now do one more thing for me, dear boy. Go down to my room on the lower floor and see the time. Dr. Morlan said that he would be home by six.”