“I don’t see any need of it,” answered Mr. Ringold. “We are out of the way of the main flood here, and, even if the river does rise, we’ll be all right. I think we’ll all go to bed.”
The night was a rather restless one for all save Charlie House. The little chap slept through it all, though about midnight the river began to rise again, as those aboard the boat could tell by her motions. But they were moored with a long cable, and it would need a great lift to put them in danger.
“Did my mamma come?” asked Charlie, as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning.
“No, but she’ll be here soon, I hope,” said Blake, who was near the bunk of the small chap. Charlie’s eyes filled with tears.
“Come on, and see me get breakfast,” urged Joe, who was willing to do his share in providing amusement for the little fellow. “I’ll show you how to make flap-jacks,” he went on.
“What’s flap-jacks?” asked Charlie, interested at once.
“Well, maybe your mamma calls them griddle-cakes—or pancakes,” said Blake.
“Oh, I love pancakes!” Charlie exclaimed, and the danger of a crying spell was over, for the time being, at least.
With prepared flour, Joe mixed up a batter, and soon the cakes were browning on a greased griddle, on the gasoline stove. There was maple syrup to eat on them, and with hot coffee for the older ones, there was served a meal anyone might have enjoyed.
“We’re having it too easy,” complained Blake, as he took a third helping of cakes. “It seems as though, in a flood like this, we ought to be eating hard tack.”