Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby and others Part 56

It became immediately evident, however, that the men would be extremely fortunate in getting themselves across. The two dark, sleek heads made slow progress on the gloomy water. The bench tipped, turned slowly, righted itself, and tipped again. Soon they worked their slow way out of sight.

Then came silence--silence!

"She's rising!" said Belle.

Miss Carter went blindly into the house. She was ashen and seemed to be choking. She sat down.

"They'll be back in no time," said she, in a sick voice.

"Sure!" said Belle, moistening her lips.

There was a long silence. Rain drummed on the roof.

"Do you swim, Belle?" Miss Carter asked after a restless march about the room.

"Some--I couldn't swim with the baby--"

Miss Carter was not listening. She leaned her head against the mantelpiece. Suddenly she began to walk again, her eyes wild, her breath uneven.

"Well, there must be something we can do, Belle!"

"I've been trying to think," said Belle, slowly. "A bread board wouldn't float, you know, even if the baby would sit on it. We've not got a barrel--and a box--"

"There must be boxes!" cried the other woman.

"Yes; but the least bit of a tip would half fill a box with water.

No--" Belle shook her head. "I'm not a good enough swimmer."

Another short silence.

"Belle, does this river rise every winter?"

"Why, yes, I suppose it does. I know one year Emville was flooded and the shops moved upstairs. There was a family named Wescott living up near here then--" Belle did not pursue the history of the Westcott family, and Miss Carter knew why.

"Oh, I think it is criminal for people to build in a place like this!"

Miss Carter burst out pa.s.sionately. "They're safe enough--oh, certainly!" she went on with bitter emphasis. "But they leave us--"

"It shows how little you know us, thinking we'd run any risk with Timmy--" Belle said stiffly; but she interrupted herself to say sharply: "Here's the water!"

She went to the door and opened it. The still waters of Beaver Creek were lapping the porch steps.

Miss Carter made an inarticulate exclamation and went into her room.

Belle, following her to her door, saw her tear off her shoes and stockings, and change her gown for some brief, dark garment.

"It's every one for himself now!" said Miss Carter, feverishly. "This is no time for sentiment. If they don't care enough for their child to--This is my gym suit--I'm thankful I brought it. Don't be utterly mad, Belle! If the water isn't coming, Timmy'll be all right. If it is, I don't see why we should be so utterly crazy as not to try to save ourselves. We can easily swim it, and then we can get help--You've got a bathing suit--go put it on. My G.o.d, Belle, it's not as if we could do anything by staying. If we could, I'd--"

Belle turned away. When Miss Carter followed her, she found her in Mrs.

Tressady's bedroom, looking down at the sleeping Timmy. Timmy had taken to bed with him a box of talc.u.m powder wrapped in a towel, as a "doddy." One fat, firm little hand still held the meaningless toy. He was breathing heavily, evenly--his little forehead moist, his hair clinging in tendrils about his face.

"No--of course we can't leave him!" said Miss Carter, heavily, as the women went back to the living-room. She went frantically from window to window. "It's stopped raining!" she announced.

"We'll laugh at this to-morrow," said Belle. They went to the door. A shallow sheet of water, entering, crept in a great circle about their very feet.

"Oh, no--it's not to be expected; it's too much!" Miss Carter cried.

Without an instant's hesitation she crossed the porch and splashed down the invisible steps.

"I take as great a chance in going as you do in staying," she said, with chattering teeth. "If--if it comes any higher, you'll swim for it--won't you, Belle?"

"Oh, I'd try it with him as a last chance," Belle answered st.u.r.dily.

She held a lamp so that its light fell across the water. "That's right.

Keep headed that way!" she said.

"I'm all right!" Miss Carter's small head was bravely cleaving the smooth dark water. "I'll run all the way and bring back help in no time," she called back.

When the lamp no longer illumined her, Belle went into the house. The door would not shut, but the water was not visibly higher. She went in to Timmy's crib, knelt down beside him, and put her arms about his warm little body.

Meanwhile Timmy's father and mother, at the hotel, were far from happy.

They stopped for a paper on their way to the opera on Thursday night; and on their return, finding no later edition procurable, telephoned one of the newspapers to ask whether there was anything in the reports that the rivers were rising up round Emville. On Friday morning Jerry, awakening, perceived his wife half-hidden in the great, rose-colored window draperies, barefoot, still in her nightgown, and reading a paper.

"Jerry," said she, very quietly, "can we go home today? I'm worried.

Some of the Napa track has been washed away and they say the water's being pushed back. Can we get the nine o'clock train?"

"But, darling, it must be eight now."

"I know it."

"Why not telephone to Belle, dear, and have them all come into Emville if you like."

"Oh, Jerry--of course! I never thought of it." She flew to the telephone on the wall. "The operator says she can't get them--they're so stupid!" she presently announced.

Jerry took the instrument away from her and the little lady contentedly began her dressing. When she came out of the dressing-room a few moments later, her husband was flinging things into his suitcase.

"Get Belle, Jerry?"

"Nope." He spoke cheerfully, but did not meet her eyes. "Nope. They can't get 'em. Lines seem to be down. I guess we'll take the nine."

"Jerry,"--Molly Tressady came over to him quietly,--"what did they tell you?"

"Now, nothing at all--" Jerry began. At his tone terror sprang to Molly's heart and sank its cruel claws there. There was no special news from Rising Water he explained soothingly; but, seeing that she was nervous, and the nine was a through train, and so on--and on--

"Timmy--Timmy--Timmy!" screamed Molly's heart. She could not see; she could not think or hear, or taste her breakfast. Her little boy--her little, helpless, st.u.r.dy, confident baby, who had never been frightened, never alone--never anything but warm and safe and doubly, trebly guarded--

They were crossing a sickening confusion that was the hotel lobby. They were moving in a taxicab through bright, hideous streets. The next thing she knew, Jerry was seating her in a parlor car.

"Yes, I know, dear--Of course--Surely!" she said pleasantly and mechanically when he seemed to expect an answer.--She thought of how he would have come to meet her; of how the little voice always rang out: "Dere's my muddy!"

"Raining again!" said Jerry. "It stopped this morning at two. Oh, yes, really it did. We're almost there now. h.e.l.lo! Here's the boy with the morning papers. See, dear, here's the head-line: Rain Stops at One-fifty--"