The day after the two parties were united proved bright and sunny, and Joe and Blake took a number of pictures of the players and the flood.
“But the river is still rising,” reported Mr. Ringold, with a worried look, as he came back from a trip to the shore of the island. “If it covers this place——”
“Where will we be?” asked Mr. Piper.
No one answered him.
And that the water might rise even high enough to completely cover the island seemed very possible, for, in spite of the brightness of the morning, it rained hard in the afternoon.
Inch by inch the waters rose. Faster and madder they swirled past the island on either side. Gradually the area of land grew smaller and smaller.
“We shall have to move the tents,” said Mr. Ringold, on the second day. “We must go to the highest point possible.”
It was hard work shifting camp in the rain, but it had to be done. Finally the white canvas houses were set up on the top of the knoll whence Blake had looked down to see their friends whom they sought.
And still the rain came down, and still the waters rose.
“Another day, at this rate, and it will be all over—except the swimming,” said C. C., grimly.