Blake aided him in the work, and the boxes of exposed films were made as secure as possible against dampness and water.
In the middle of the night Blake awoke. He heard a curious roaring, throbbing noise on the deck over his head.
“What’s that?” he asked, speaking aloud, involuntarily.
“More rain,” answered Joe, in a low voice. He, too, had been awakened.
The storm had started again, and the drops were pelting down on the afflicted land.
“This will make the river still higher,” went on Blake. “I wish we were out of this—and had the missing ones, and Charlie’s folks, safe.”
“So do I,” answered Joe. “My! but I’m sick of the sound of rain!”
The little boy, in the bunk near Blake, awakened, either from hearing the talk, or from the noise of the storm.
“I’m hungry! I want my mamma!” he called.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” said Blake, kindly, “and maybe mamma will come in the morning.”