At the same moment a cow stuck her head out of a small window, and looked piteously at the rescuers.
“Too bad! We can’t do anything for you, old cow!” cried Blake. “I guess you’re done for, unless your barn floats to shore. I wish we had room for you,” he went on, whimsically, “for we could use fresh milk very nicely.” They had been obliged to put up with the condensed variety thus far.
The barn swept on down stream, turning around and around, as the boat went past it, the cow’s head appearing at each turn, thrust through the window.
With a small moving picture camera, Blake got a few views of this odd scene, to add to the others already taken.
They decided to tie up for the night just above a small town, that was far enough from the banks of the Mississippi to have escaped the flood, thus far. But the inhabitants were in constant fear, and all available men were at work strengthening the levee.
Our friends managed to purchase a few supplies, and they got some fresh milk, which luxury Charlie had missed very much, for he was accustomed to drinking it.
The little boy was quite fretful after supper, and cried for his lost home and parents. But Blake induced him to listen to some fairy stories, and finally Charlie House fell asleep, and was put in his bunk.
“Poor little chap,” murmured Blake, as he tucked the child in snugly. “Poor little chap!” And then Blake thought of Birdie Lee, and the others of the lost theatrical party.
“If you boys will stay here with the boat, Mr. Piper and I will go to town and see if there is any answer to the telegram I sent this morning, from the upper village,” said Mr. Ringold, when dusk had fallen. He had taken this method, instead of waiting for an answer to his wire. A message had been sent to the New York office, asking if any news had been received of the missing ones, and a request was made that any reply might be sent to Canton, which was the village above which they were now tied up.
“Sure, we’ll stay here,” agreed Joe. “And I hope you get some word.”