He got up, and made some cracker and jam sandwiches for Charlie, who munched them contentedly, and went to sleep again.
Blake then opened the cabin door, and looked out.
“How is it?” asked Joe.
“Pretty fierce!” murmured Blake, as he crept back to his bunk. “Pretty fierce. It’s a raging torrent out there.”
Morning brought no cessation of the rain, though it was not coming down quite so hard after the dreary dawn broke. As our friends sat down to breakfast, they could see the alarmed villagers working frantically at the levee. For the rising waters were already lapping the top of it.
Long lines of men, carrying bags and baskets of dirt and stones, piled them along the bank—the frail bank that alone stood between the flood and their homes! The boys took some pictures of the work, and then, casting off the mooring line, the trip down the river was resumed.
Although it rained, Blake and Joe were not idle. They knew that many pictures were needed, and they set to work to get them, though they would not be as good as those made in clear weather.
After dinner, rounding a bend in the stream, they came in sight of a town the greater part of which was under water, and, as they steered toward it, Mr. Ringold having said they would make a stop, Joe cried out:
“Look! There’s a house on fire!”
“So there is!” shouted Blake. “Fire and flood together! It couldn’t be much worse!”