Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.Roger his own Master.There lay Roger under the tree, thinking that there was nothing to prevent his having all his own way now, and that he was going to be very happy. He had always thought it hard that he could not have his own way entirely, and had been unsatisfied with a much greater degree of liberty than most people wish or have.He had hitherto led a wandering life, having no home duties, no school to go to, no trade to work at,—no garden, or other pleasure, to fix him to one spot. He had gone, with his uncle, from sporting on the moors, in one season of the year, to sporting in the marshes in another; and, wild as was this way of life, it made his will so much wilder, that he was always wishing for more liberty still. When his aunt had desired him to watch the kettle, as it hung over the fire near the tent, or asked him to help her in shaking out their bedding, or cleaning their utensils, he had turned sulky, and wished that he lived alone, where he need not be plagued about other people’s affairs. When his uncle had ordered him to attend at a certain spot and hour, with nets or a gun, he had been wont to feel himself seized with a sudden desire to wander in an opposite direction, or to lie half asleep in the sun, too lazy to work at all. When he had played truant, and returned late to the tent, and found nothing better left to eat than a dry crust of bread, or the cold remains of a mess of fish, he had frequently thought how pleasant it would be to have the best of everything for himself, and only his dog to eat up the rest. So this boy had often felt and thought; and so would many think and feel, perhaps, if there were many as forlorn and friendless as he, with no one to love and be loved by. Though he had had an uncle and aunt, he had never had a friend. He knew that they cared about him only because he could help to keep the tent, and take the game; and, feeling this, it was irksome to him to be under their orders.The time was now come for which he had so often longed. He was his own master completely. There was nobody near who could order or compel him to do anything; while he, on his part, had an obedient servant in his dog. The sky was blue and warm overhead, and the trees cast a pleasant shade. The Red-hill was now an island, which he had all to himself; and it was richly stocked with game, for his food and sport. Here he could have his own way, and be completely happy.Such was Roger’s idea when he stole the tinder-box, and crossed to the hill; and this was what he said to himself as he cooked his meal, and when he lay down after it on the grass, with the bees humming round him, and the sound of the waters being now a pleasant ripple, instead of the rush and roar of yesterday. He desired his dog to lie down, and not disturb him; and he took this opportunity to change the animal’s name. Stephen Redfurn, taking up the quarrel of the day against the bishops, would have the dog called “Bishop,” and nothing else. Roger had always wished to call him “Spy;” but Bishop would never answer to the name of Spy, or even seem to hear it. Now, however, Bishop was to be Spy, as there was no one here to indulge the dog with his old name; and Spy was told so many times over, and with all the devices that could be thought of for impressing the fact on his memory.This lesson being given, Roger shut his eyes, and thought he would sleep as long as he chose; but, in the first place, he found himself too much heated for sleep. He considered that it was no wonder, after broiling himself in making a fire to broil his hare. He wished animals ran about ready cooked—as fruits grow on the sunny side of trees. It was too bad to have to bustle and toil for an hour, to get ready what was eaten in ten minutes; and it just passed through his mind that, whatever Nan Redfurn might have sometimes said and done to him, she had usually saved him all trouble in cooking, and had had his meals ready for him whenever he chose to be at the tent at meal times. He rose, and thought he could find a cooler place, further under the trees.He did so, and again lay down. Sleep began to steal over him; and, at the same time, the thought crept into his mind that he should never more see Stephen Redfurn. The ideas that come when one is dropping asleep are very vivid; and this one startled Roger so, that Spy found it out, and pricked up his ears, as if at some alarm. This thought would not go away; for it so happened that the last words that Stephen and Roger had spoken together were angry ones. Stephen had ordered Roger to carry the fry they had fished for manure to a field, where he had promised to deposit it by a certain time. Roger had been sure that the fish would be better for lying in the sun a while longer, and refused to touch it. No matter which was right about the manure; both were wrong in being angry. Stephen had said that Roger was a young rascal, who would never come to good; and Roger had looked impertinently in his uncle’s face, while whistling to the dog to come with him, and make sport among the water-fowl. It was that face—that countenance of his uncle’s, as he had last seen it, which was before Roger’s eyes now, as he lay dozing. With it came the angry tones of Stephen’s voice, saying that he would never come to good. Mixed and confused with this was the roar of a coming flood, and a question (how and whence spoken he knew not) whether his uncle might not possibly have been saved, if he had not, against orders, carried away Bishop—for the dog was still Bishop in his master’s dreams.Roger started bolt upright, and looked about him. He felt very tired; but he thought he would not lie down again just yet. It was odd that he could not get sound asleep, so tired as he was. If he should not sleep better than this at night, what should he do? He wished he had some more of that woman’s cherry-brandy. He had slept sound enough after drinking that. It was well for Roger that he was not now within reach of intoxicating liquors—the state of his mind would probably have made a drunkard of him.His mind ran strangely on his uncle, and his uncle’s last looks and words, even as he stood wide awake, and staring at the bee-hives. A rustle in the briars behind him made him jump as if he had been shot. It was only a partridge taking wing.“Whirr away!” said Roger to her. “You can’t go far. You will have to light again upon my island. You all belong to me—you swarming creatures! You may run about awhile, and flutter away a bit; but you will all belong to me at last, with Spy to help me. I’ll have some sport, now. Here, Spy! Spy!”Spy had disappeared, and did not come when called. A whistle brought him, however, at last. He came out of the thicket, licking his chops. Being commanded to bring his game, he soon produced two rabbits. It was easy work for the dog to catch them; for the poor creatures had no holes here. They had come to this raised ground from a warren some way off, where they had been soaked out of their holes.Spy was praised for everything but not answering to his name. For that he was lectured, and then sent off again, to try what he could find. He brought in prey of various kinds; for he could not stir among the trees without starting some. During the fun, as Roger thought it, while the terrified birds were fluttering among the branches of the trees, and the scared animals bursting through the thicket, Roger resolved that he would not plague himself with any more thoughts of Stephen and Nan. If they were drowned, it was none of his doing; and, as for Stephen’s anger yesterday, there was nothing new in that; Stephen was angry every day of his life. He would not be scared out of his sleep any more by nonsense. He would not give up having his own way to see Stephen and Nan under these very trees; and, as he had got his own way at last, he would enjoy it.This mood went on till there was such a heap of dead animals, that Roger began to think whether he could skin them all, and clean their skins, in such hot weather as this, before they were unfit for any use. As for eating them, here was twenty times as much food as could be eaten while it was good. He did just remember the children and Ailwin, and how much they probably wanted food; but he settled that it was no business of his; and he was not going to trouble himself to leave his island for anybody. He would call in Spy, and tie him up; for there must be no more game killed to-day.Spy did not come for any calling,—for anything short of the well-known whistle, as Roger would not utter the name of Bishop. Roger grew very angry at being obeyed no better than this; and his last whistle was so shrill that the dog seemed to know what it threatened, refused to answer it as long as he dared, and then came unwillingly, with fear in every attitude. He gave a low whine when he saw his master; as he had good reason to do. Roger tied him to a tree, and then gave loose to his passion. He thrashed the dog with a switch till the poor creature’s whine was heard and pitied by the children and Ailwin on their house-top; and there is no knowing how long the whipping might not have gone on, if the animal had not at last turned furious, and snapped at Roger in a way which made him think of giving over, and finding something else to do with his sovereignty.He found it was rather dull work, so far, having all his own way, in an island of his own. At last, he bethought himself of an amusement he had been fond of before he lived so much in the moors and the carrs. He bethought himself of bird’s-nesting. It was too late for eggs; but he thought the bird-families might not have all dispersed. Here were plenty of trees, and they must be full of birds; for, though they were silent to-day (he did wish the place was not quite so silent!) they sometimes sent their warblings so far over the carr, that Nan Redfurn would mention them in the tent. He would see what ailed them, that they would not give him any music to-day. By incessant cooing, he obtained an answer from one solitary pigeon; which he took advantage of to climb the tree, and look for the nest. He found a nest; but there was nothing in it. He climbed several trees, and found abundance of nests; but all deserted. Except his solitary pigeon (which presently vanished), there appeared to be not a winged creature in all those trees. The birds had been frightened away by the roar of the flood of yesterday; and, perhaps, by seeing the fields, to which they had been wont to resort for their food, all turned into a waste of muddy waters.Roger threw to the ground every empty nest he found, from the common inability of a boy to keep his hands off a bird’s-nest. When he was tired of climbing trees, he picked up all the scattered nests, and laid them in a long row on the grass. They looked dismal enough. It is disagreeable to see a range of houses left half-built (such as may be seen in the neighbourhood of large towns), with the doorways gaping, and the window-spaces empty, and roofs hardly covering in the dark inside; but such a row of houses is less dismal than Roger’s array of birds’-nests. There is something in the very make of a bird’s-nest which rouses thoughts of blue or red-spotted eggs, of callow young birds, with their large hungry eyes and beaks, or of twittering fledglings, training for a summer life of pleasure. To see, instead of these, their silent empty habitations, extended in a long row, would be enough to make any one dull and sad. So Roger found. He kicked them into a heap under a tree, and thought that they would make a fine crackling fire. He would burn them, every one.While he was wondering whether any birds would come back to miss their nests, it struck him that he had not thought how he was to pass the night. It was nothing new to him to sleep in the open air. He liked it best at this season. But he had usually had a rug to lie upon, with the tent over him; or a blanket; or, at worst, he had a sack to creep into. The clothes he had on were old and thin; and as he looked at them, it made him angry to think that he was not to have everything as he liked it, after all. Here he should have to pass a cold night, and with nothing between him and the hard ground. He thought of gathering leaves, moss, and high grass, to roll himself up in, like a squirrel in its hole; but the trouble was what he did not like. He stood listlessly thinking how much trouble it would cost to collect moss and leaves for the purpose; and, while he was so thinking, he went on pelting his dog with birds’-nests, and seeing how the angry dog, unable to get loose, snapped up and shook to pieces the nests which fell within his reach.Roger knew that he ought to be skinning some of the dead animals, if he really meant to secure all their skins, before it was too late; but this also was troublesome. Instead of doing this, he went round the hill, to see what the Linacres were about, resolving by no means to appear to see them, if they should be making signs from the window to have the things back again that he had carried away. On coming out of the shade on that side of the hill, he was surprised to see smoke still going up from his fire, considering that the fire was nearly out when he had left it. Something more strange met his eye as he ran forward. There was the nice clean blanket spread out on the ground, with the tinder-box in the middle.“Somebody has been here!” cried Roger, much offended. “What business has anybody in my island? Coming when my back is turned! If I had only heard them coming to meddle—!”Just then, his eye fell on the rug, blanket, and knife and fork left by Oliver,—the very accommodation he had been wishing for, and more. When he felt the thick warm rug, he gave over his anger at some one having entered his island without his leave, and, for a moment, again felt pleased and happy. But when he saw that the bridge-basket was gone—that other people had the means of coming in upon him when they pleased—he was more angry than he had been all day.“However,” thought he, “I got over to the house before anyone else crossed the water, and I can do the same again whenever I please. I have only to swim over with Spy, and bring away anything I like, while they are busy on the other side, about their good-for-nothing cow, or something. That will be tit-for-tat.”He was doubly mistaken here. His going over to steal comforts from the Linacres would not be tit-for-tat for Oliver’s coming over to his father’s hill, to bring away his mother’s clothes basket, and leave comforts for an unwelcome visitor! Neither could Roger now enter the Linacres’ dwelling when he pleased, by swimming the stream. He saw this when he examined and considered. The water had sunk so as to show a few inches of the top of the entrance-door and lower windows. It was not high enough to allow of his getting in at the upper window, as he did yesterday; and too high for entrance below. The stream appeared to be as rapid and strong as ever; and it shot its force through the carr as vehemently as at first; for it was almost, or quite as deep as ever. It had worn away soil at the bottom of its channel, to nearly or quite the same depth as it had sunk at the surface; so that it was still working against the walls and foundation of the house, and the soil of the hill, with as much force as during the first hour. When Roger examined the red precipice from which he looked down upon the rushing stream, he perceived that not a yard of Linacres’ garden could now be in existence. That garden, with its flourishing vegetables, its rare, gay, sweet flowers, and its laden fruit trees,—that garden which he and Stephen could not help admiring, while they told everybody that it had no business in the middle of their carr,—that garden, its earth and its plants, was all spread in ruins over the marsh; and instead of it would be found, if the waters could be dried up, a deep, gravelly, stony watercourse, or a channel of red mud. Roger wondered whether the boy and girl were aware of this fate of their garden; or whether they supposed that everything stood fast and in order under the waters. He wanted to point out the truth to them; and looked up to the chamber window, in hopes that they might be watching him from it. No one was there, however. On glancing higher, he saw them sitting within the balustrade on the roof. They were all looking another way, and not appearing to think of him at all. He watched them for a long while; but they never turned towards the Red-hill. He could have made them hear by calling; but they might think he wished to be with them, or wanted something from them, instead of understanding that he desired to tell them that their pretty garden was destroyed. So he began to settle with himself which of his dead game he would have for supper, and then fed his fire, in order to cook it. He now thought that he should have liked a bird for supper,—a pheasant or partridge instead of a rabbit or leveret; of which he had plenty. He felt it very provoking that he had neither a net nor a gun, for securing feathered game, when there was so much on the hill; so that he must put up with four-footed game, when he had rather have had a bird. There was no bread either, or vegetables; but he minded that less, because neither of these were at hand, and he had often lived for a long time together on animal food. During the whole time of his listless preparations for cooking his supper, he glanced up occasionally at the roof; but he never once saw the party look his way. He thought it very odd that they should care so much less about him, than he knew they did when Stephen and he came into the carr. They neither seemed to want him nor to fear him to-day.At length he went to set Spy loose, in order to feed him, and to have a companion, for he felt rather dull, while seeing how busily the party on the house-top were talking. When he returned with Spy, the sun had set, and there was no one on the house-top. A faint light from the chamber window told that Ailwin and the children were there. Roger wondered how they had managed to kindle a fire, while he had the tinder-box. He learned the truth, soon after, by upsetting the tinder-box, as he moved the blanket. The steel fell out; and the flint and tinder were found to be absent. In his present mood he considered it prodigious impertinence to impose upon him the labour of finding a flint the next day, and the choice whether to make tinder of a bit of his shirt, or to use shavings of wood instead. He determined to show, meanwhile, that he had plenty of fire for to-night, and therefore heaped it up so high, that there was some danger that the lower branches of the ash under which he sat would shrivel up with the heat.No blaze that he could make, however, could conceal from his own view the cheerful light from the chamber window. There was certainly a good fire within; and those who sat beside it were probably better companions to each other than Spy was to him. The dog was dull and would not play; and Roger himself soon felt too tired, or something, to wish to play. He could not conceal from himself that he should much like to be in that chamber from which the light shone, even though there was no cherry-brandy there now.The stars were but just beginning to drop into the sky, and the waste of waters still looked yellow and bright to the west; but Roger’s first day of having his own way had been quite long enough; and he spread his rug, and rolled himself in his blanket for the night. Spy, being invited, drew near, and lay down too. Roger was still overheated, from having made such an enormous fire; but he muffled up his head in his blanket, as if he was afraid lest even his dog should see that he was crying.

There lay Roger under the tree, thinking that there was nothing to prevent his having all his own way now, and that he was going to be very happy. He had always thought it hard that he could not have his own way entirely, and had been unsatisfied with a much greater degree of liberty than most people wish or have.

He had hitherto led a wandering life, having no home duties, no school to go to, no trade to work at,—no garden, or other pleasure, to fix him to one spot. He had gone, with his uncle, from sporting on the moors, in one season of the year, to sporting in the marshes in another; and, wild as was this way of life, it made his will so much wilder, that he was always wishing for more liberty still. When his aunt had desired him to watch the kettle, as it hung over the fire near the tent, or asked him to help her in shaking out their bedding, or cleaning their utensils, he had turned sulky, and wished that he lived alone, where he need not be plagued about other people’s affairs. When his uncle had ordered him to attend at a certain spot and hour, with nets or a gun, he had been wont to feel himself seized with a sudden desire to wander in an opposite direction, or to lie half asleep in the sun, too lazy to work at all. When he had played truant, and returned late to the tent, and found nothing better left to eat than a dry crust of bread, or the cold remains of a mess of fish, he had frequently thought how pleasant it would be to have the best of everything for himself, and only his dog to eat up the rest. So this boy had often felt and thought; and so would many think and feel, perhaps, if there were many as forlorn and friendless as he, with no one to love and be loved by. Though he had had an uncle and aunt, he had never had a friend. He knew that they cared about him only because he could help to keep the tent, and take the game; and, feeling this, it was irksome to him to be under their orders.

The time was now come for which he had so often longed. He was his own master completely. There was nobody near who could order or compel him to do anything; while he, on his part, had an obedient servant in his dog. The sky was blue and warm overhead, and the trees cast a pleasant shade. The Red-hill was now an island, which he had all to himself; and it was richly stocked with game, for his food and sport. Here he could have his own way, and be completely happy.

Such was Roger’s idea when he stole the tinder-box, and crossed to the hill; and this was what he said to himself as he cooked his meal, and when he lay down after it on the grass, with the bees humming round him, and the sound of the waters being now a pleasant ripple, instead of the rush and roar of yesterday. He desired his dog to lie down, and not disturb him; and he took this opportunity to change the animal’s name. Stephen Redfurn, taking up the quarrel of the day against the bishops, would have the dog called “Bishop,” and nothing else. Roger had always wished to call him “Spy;” but Bishop would never answer to the name of Spy, or even seem to hear it. Now, however, Bishop was to be Spy, as there was no one here to indulge the dog with his old name; and Spy was told so many times over, and with all the devices that could be thought of for impressing the fact on his memory.

This lesson being given, Roger shut his eyes, and thought he would sleep as long as he chose; but, in the first place, he found himself too much heated for sleep. He considered that it was no wonder, after broiling himself in making a fire to broil his hare. He wished animals ran about ready cooked—as fruits grow on the sunny side of trees. It was too bad to have to bustle and toil for an hour, to get ready what was eaten in ten minutes; and it just passed through his mind that, whatever Nan Redfurn might have sometimes said and done to him, she had usually saved him all trouble in cooking, and had had his meals ready for him whenever he chose to be at the tent at meal times. He rose, and thought he could find a cooler place, further under the trees.

He did so, and again lay down. Sleep began to steal over him; and, at the same time, the thought crept into his mind that he should never more see Stephen Redfurn. The ideas that come when one is dropping asleep are very vivid; and this one startled Roger so, that Spy found it out, and pricked up his ears, as if at some alarm. This thought would not go away; for it so happened that the last words that Stephen and Roger had spoken together were angry ones. Stephen had ordered Roger to carry the fry they had fished for manure to a field, where he had promised to deposit it by a certain time. Roger had been sure that the fish would be better for lying in the sun a while longer, and refused to touch it. No matter which was right about the manure; both were wrong in being angry. Stephen had said that Roger was a young rascal, who would never come to good; and Roger had looked impertinently in his uncle’s face, while whistling to the dog to come with him, and make sport among the water-fowl. It was that face—that countenance of his uncle’s, as he had last seen it, which was before Roger’s eyes now, as he lay dozing. With it came the angry tones of Stephen’s voice, saying that he would never come to good. Mixed and confused with this was the roar of a coming flood, and a question (how and whence spoken he knew not) whether his uncle might not possibly have been saved, if he had not, against orders, carried away Bishop—for the dog was still Bishop in his master’s dreams.

Roger started bolt upright, and looked about him. He felt very tired; but he thought he would not lie down again just yet. It was odd that he could not get sound asleep, so tired as he was. If he should not sleep better than this at night, what should he do? He wished he had some more of that woman’s cherry-brandy. He had slept sound enough after drinking that. It was well for Roger that he was not now within reach of intoxicating liquors—the state of his mind would probably have made a drunkard of him.

His mind ran strangely on his uncle, and his uncle’s last looks and words, even as he stood wide awake, and staring at the bee-hives. A rustle in the briars behind him made him jump as if he had been shot. It was only a partridge taking wing.

“Whirr away!” said Roger to her. “You can’t go far. You will have to light again upon my island. You all belong to me—you swarming creatures! You may run about awhile, and flutter away a bit; but you will all belong to me at last, with Spy to help me. I’ll have some sport, now. Here, Spy! Spy!”

Spy had disappeared, and did not come when called. A whistle brought him, however, at last. He came out of the thicket, licking his chops. Being commanded to bring his game, he soon produced two rabbits. It was easy work for the dog to catch them; for the poor creatures had no holes here. They had come to this raised ground from a warren some way off, where they had been soaked out of their holes.

Spy was praised for everything but not answering to his name. For that he was lectured, and then sent off again, to try what he could find. He brought in prey of various kinds; for he could not stir among the trees without starting some. During the fun, as Roger thought it, while the terrified birds were fluttering among the branches of the trees, and the scared animals bursting through the thicket, Roger resolved that he would not plague himself with any more thoughts of Stephen and Nan. If they were drowned, it was none of his doing; and, as for Stephen’s anger yesterday, there was nothing new in that; Stephen was angry every day of his life. He would not be scared out of his sleep any more by nonsense. He would not give up having his own way to see Stephen and Nan under these very trees; and, as he had got his own way at last, he would enjoy it.

This mood went on till there was such a heap of dead animals, that Roger began to think whether he could skin them all, and clean their skins, in such hot weather as this, before they were unfit for any use. As for eating them, here was twenty times as much food as could be eaten while it was good. He did just remember the children and Ailwin, and how much they probably wanted food; but he settled that it was no business of his; and he was not going to trouble himself to leave his island for anybody. He would call in Spy, and tie him up; for there must be no more game killed to-day.

Spy did not come for any calling,—for anything short of the well-known whistle, as Roger would not utter the name of Bishop. Roger grew very angry at being obeyed no better than this; and his last whistle was so shrill that the dog seemed to know what it threatened, refused to answer it as long as he dared, and then came unwillingly, with fear in every attitude. He gave a low whine when he saw his master; as he had good reason to do. Roger tied him to a tree, and then gave loose to his passion. He thrashed the dog with a switch till the poor creature’s whine was heard and pitied by the children and Ailwin on their house-top; and there is no knowing how long the whipping might not have gone on, if the animal had not at last turned furious, and snapped at Roger in a way which made him think of giving over, and finding something else to do with his sovereignty.

He found it was rather dull work, so far, having all his own way, in an island of his own. At last, he bethought himself of an amusement he had been fond of before he lived so much in the moors and the carrs. He bethought himself of bird’s-nesting. It was too late for eggs; but he thought the bird-families might not have all dispersed. Here were plenty of trees, and they must be full of birds; for, though they were silent to-day (he did wish the place was not quite so silent!) they sometimes sent their warblings so far over the carr, that Nan Redfurn would mention them in the tent. He would see what ailed them, that they would not give him any music to-day. By incessant cooing, he obtained an answer from one solitary pigeon; which he took advantage of to climb the tree, and look for the nest. He found a nest; but there was nothing in it. He climbed several trees, and found abundance of nests; but all deserted. Except his solitary pigeon (which presently vanished), there appeared to be not a winged creature in all those trees. The birds had been frightened away by the roar of the flood of yesterday; and, perhaps, by seeing the fields, to which they had been wont to resort for their food, all turned into a waste of muddy waters.

Roger threw to the ground every empty nest he found, from the common inability of a boy to keep his hands off a bird’s-nest. When he was tired of climbing trees, he picked up all the scattered nests, and laid them in a long row on the grass. They looked dismal enough. It is disagreeable to see a range of houses left half-built (such as may be seen in the neighbourhood of large towns), with the doorways gaping, and the window-spaces empty, and roofs hardly covering in the dark inside; but such a row of houses is less dismal than Roger’s array of birds’-nests. There is something in the very make of a bird’s-nest which rouses thoughts of blue or red-spotted eggs, of callow young birds, with their large hungry eyes and beaks, or of twittering fledglings, training for a summer life of pleasure. To see, instead of these, their silent empty habitations, extended in a long row, would be enough to make any one dull and sad. So Roger found. He kicked them into a heap under a tree, and thought that they would make a fine crackling fire. He would burn them, every one.

While he was wondering whether any birds would come back to miss their nests, it struck him that he had not thought how he was to pass the night. It was nothing new to him to sleep in the open air. He liked it best at this season. But he had usually had a rug to lie upon, with the tent over him; or a blanket; or, at worst, he had a sack to creep into. The clothes he had on were old and thin; and as he looked at them, it made him angry to think that he was not to have everything as he liked it, after all. Here he should have to pass a cold night, and with nothing between him and the hard ground. He thought of gathering leaves, moss, and high grass, to roll himself up in, like a squirrel in its hole; but the trouble was what he did not like. He stood listlessly thinking how much trouble it would cost to collect moss and leaves for the purpose; and, while he was so thinking, he went on pelting his dog with birds’-nests, and seeing how the angry dog, unable to get loose, snapped up and shook to pieces the nests which fell within his reach.

Roger knew that he ought to be skinning some of the dead animals, if he really meant to secure all their skins, before it was too late; but this also was troublesome. Instead of doing this, he went round the hill, to see what the Linacres were about, resolving by no means to appear to see them, if they should be making signs from the window to have the things back again that he had carried away. On coming out of the shade on that side of the hill, he was surprised to see smoke still going up from his fire, considering that the fire was nearly out when he had left it. Something more strange met his eye as he ran forward. There was the nice clean blanket spread out on the ground, with the tinder-box in the middle.

“Somebody has been here!” cried Roger, much offended. “What business has anybody in my island? Coming when my back is turned! If I had only heard them coming to meddle—!”

Just then, his eye fell on the rug, blanket, and knife and fork left by Oliver,—the very accommodation he had been wishing for, and more. When he felt the thick warm rug, he gave over his anger at some one having entered his island without his leave, and, for a moment, again felt pleased and happy. But when he saw that the bridge-basket was gone—that other people had the means of coming in upon him when they pleased—he was more angry than he had been all day.

“However,” thought he, “I got over to the house before anyone else crossed the water, and I can do the same again whenever I please. I have only to swim over with Spy, and bring away anything I like, while they are busy on the other side, about their good-for-nothing cow, or something. That will be tit-for-tat.”

He was doubly mistaken here. His going over to steal comforts from the Linacres would not be tit-for-tat for Oliver’s coming over to his father’s hill, to bring away his mother’s clothes basket, and leave comforts for an unwelcome visitor! Neither could Roger now enter the Linacres’ dwelling when he pleased, by swimming the stream. He saw this when he examined and considered. The water had sunk so as to show a few inches of the top of the entrance-door and lower windows. It was not high enough to allow of his getting in at the upper window, as he did yesterday; and too high for entrance below. The stream appeared to be as rapid and strong as ever; and it shot its force through the carr as vehemently as at first; for it was almost, or quite as deep as ever. It had worn away soil at the bottom of its channel, to nearly or quite the same depth as it had sunk at the surface; so that it was still working against the walls and foundation of the house, and the soil of the hill, with as much force as during the first hour. When Roger examined the red precipice from which he looked down upon the rushing stream, he perceived that not a yard of Linacres’ garden could now be in existence. That garden, with its flourishing vegetables, its rare, gay, sweet flowers, and its laden fruit trees,—that garden which he and Stephen could not help admiring, while they told everybody that it had no business in the middle of their carr,—that garden, its earth and its plants, was all spread in ruins over the marsh; and instead of it would be found, if the waters could be dried up, a deep, gravelly, stony watercourse, or a channel of red mud. Roger wondered whether the boy and girl were aware of this fate of their garden; or whether they supposed that everything stood fast and in order under the waters. He wanted to point out the truth to them; and looked up to the chamber window, in hopes that they might be watching him from it. No one was there, however. On glancing higher, he saw them sitting within the balustrade on the roof. They were all looking another way, and not appearing to think of him at all. He watched them for a long while; but they never turned towards the Red-hill. He could have made them hear by calling; but they might think he wished to be with them, or wanted something from them, instead of understanding that he desired to tell them that their pretty garden was destroyed. So he began to settle with himself which of his dead game he would have for supper, and then fed his fire, in order to cook it. He now thought that he should have liked a bird for supper,—a pheasant or partridge instead of a rabbit or leveret; of which he had plenty. He felt it very provoking that he had neither a net nor a gun, for securing feathered game, when there was so much on the hill; so that he must put up with four-footed game, when he had rather have had a bird. There was no bread either, or vegetables; but he minded that less, because neither of these were at hand, and he had often lived for a long time together on animal food. During the whole time of his listless preparations for cooking his supper, he glanced up occasionally at the roof; but he never once saw the party look his way. He thought it very odd that they should care so much less about him, than he knew they did when Stephen and he came into the carr. They neither seemed to want him nor to fear him to-day.

At length he went to set Spy loose, in order to feed him, and to have a companion, for he felt rather dull, while seeing how busily the party on the house-top were talking. When he returned with Spy, the sun had set, and there was no one on the house-top. A faint light from the chamber window told that Ailwin and the children were there. Roger wondered how they had managed to kindle a fire, while he had the tinder-box. He learned the truth, soon after, by upsetting the tinder-box, as he moved the blanket. The steel fell out; and the flint and tinder were found to be absent. In his present mood he considered it prodigious impertinence to impose upon him the labour of finding a flint the next day, and the choice whether to make tinder of a bit of his shirt, or to use shavings of wood instead. He determined to show, meanwhile, that he had plenty of fire for to-night, and therefore heaped it up so high, that there was some danger that the lower branches of the ash under which he sat would shrivel up with the heat.

No blaze that he could make, however, could conceal from his own view the cheerful light from the chamber window. There was certainly a good fire within; and those who sat beside it were probably better companions to each other than Spy was to him. The dog was dull and would not play; and Roger himself soon felt too tired, or something, to wish to play. He could not conceal from himself that he should much like to be in that chamber from which the light shone, even though there was no cherry-brandy there now.

The stars were but just beginning to drop into the sky, and the waste of waters still looked yellow and bright to the west; but Roger’s first day of having his own way had been quite long enough; and he spread his rug, and rolled himself in his blanket for the night. Spy, being invited, drew near, and lay down too. Roger was still overheated, from having made such an enormous fire; but he muffled up his head in his blanket, as if he was afraid lest even his dog should see that he was crying.

Chapter Seven.Roger not his own Master.More than once during the long night, Roger heard strange sounds; and Spy repeatedly raised his head, and seemed uneasy. Above the constant flow of the stream, there came occasionally a sort of roar, then a rumble and a splash, and the stream appeared to flow on faster. Once Roger rose in the belief that the house,—the firm, substantial, stone house,—was washed down. But it was not so. There was no moon at the time of night when he looked forth; but it was clear starlight; and there stood the dark mass of the building in the midst of the grey waters. Roger vowed he would not get up from his warm rug again, on any false alarm; and so lay till broad daylight, sometimes quite asleep, and sometimes drowsily, resolving that he would think no more of uncle Stephen, except in the day-time.Soon after sunrise, however, a renewed rumble and splash roused him to open his eyes wide. What he saw made him jump up, and run to the edge of the precipice, to see all he could. The greater part of the roof of the house was gone; and there were cracks in the solid stone walls through which the yellow sunshine found its way. One portion of the wall leaned in; another leaned out towards the water. At first Roger expected to see the whole building crumble down into the stream, and supposed that the inhabitants might be swept quite away. He gazed with the strange feeling that not a creature might be now left alive in that habitation.Roger’s heart sank within him at the idea of his own solitude, if this were indeed the case. He had nothing to fear for his own safety. The Red-hill would not be swept away. He could live as he was for a long time to come; till some some steps should be taken for repairing the damage of the flood; till some explorers should arrive in a boat; which he had no doubt would happen soon. It was not about his own safety that Roger was anxious; but it frightened him to think of being entirely alone in such a place as this, with the bodies of all whom he knew best lying under the waters on every side of him. If he could have Oliver with him to speak to, or even little George, it would make all the difference to him. He really hoped they were left alive. When he began to consider, he perceived that the bridge-rope remained, stretched as tight as ever. The chamber window, and indeed all that wall of the house, looked firm and safe; and such roof as was left was over that part. This was natural enough, as the violence of the flood was much greater on the opposite side of the house than on the garden side. The staircase was safe. It was laid open to view very curiously; but it stood upright and steady: and, at length, to Roger’s great relief, Mildred appeared upon it. She merely ran up to fetch something from the roof; but her step, her run and jump, was, to Roger’s mind, different from what it would have been if she had been in great affliction or fear. In his pleasure at this, he snatched his cap from his head, and waved it: but the little girl was very busy, and she did not see him. It was odd, Roger said to himself, that the Linacres were always now thinking of everything but him, when formerly they could never watch him enough.After a while he descended the bank, to fill his boiler with water. It was necessary to do this for some time before drinking, in order that the mud might settle. Even after standing for several hours, the day before, the water was far from clear; and it was very far from sweet. This was nothing new to Roger, however, who had been accustomed to drink water like this as often as he had been settled in the carr, though he had occasionally been allowed to mix with it some gin from his uncle’s bottle. He was thirsty enough this morning to drink almost anything; but he did think the water in the boiler looked particularly muddy and disagreeable. Spy seemed as thirsty as himself, and as little disposed to drink of the stream as it ran below. He pranced about the boiler, as if watching for an opportunity to wet his tongue, if his master should turn his back for a minute.The opportunity soon came; for Roger saw the bridge-basket put out of the window by Ailwin; after which, Oliver got into it. Ailwin handed him something, as he pulled away for the Red-hill. With a skip and a jump Roger ran to the beach to await him.“Pull away! That’s right! Glad to see you!” exclaimed Roger. “Halloo, Spy! Down, sir! Pleased to see you, Oliver.”Oliver was glad to hear these words. He did not know but that he might have been met by abuse and violence, for having carried home the basket.“Would you like some milk?” asked Oliver, as he came near.“Ay, that I should,” replied Roger.“Leave yonder water to your dog, then, and drink this,” said Oliver, handing down a small tin can. “You must let me have the can, though. Almost all our kitchen things floated out through the wall, at that breach that you see, during the night. You must give me the can again, if you would like that I should bring you some more milk this afternoon. The poor cow is doing but badly, and we cannot feed her as we should like: but she has given milk enough for George this morning, with a little to spare for us and you. You seem to like it,” he added, laughing to see how Roger smacked his lips over the draught.“That I do. It is good stuff, I know,” said Roger, as he drained the last drop.“Then I will bring you some more in the afternoon, if there is any to spare from poor George’s supper.”“That’s a pity. You’ve enough to do, I think. Suppose I come over. Eh?”“There is something to be said about that,” replied Oliver, gravely. “We do not want to keep what we have to ourselves. We have got a chest of meal, this morning.”“A chest of meal!”“Yes: a large chest, and not wet at all, except an inch deep all round the outside. We caught it just now as it was floating by; and we should like you to have some of it, as you have no bread here: but you know, Roger, you kicked our poor cow when she was too weak to stand; and you carried away our tinder-box when you knew we had no fire. We don’t want to have you with us to do such things: and so I think I had better bring you some of the meal over here. And yet it is a pity; for the broth that Ailwin is making will be very good.”“I’ll come over,” said Roger. “I am stronger than you, and I can help you to feed the cow, and everything.”“I can do all that, with Ailwin to help: and I am sure Mildred had much rather you should stay here, unless you behave differently. And poor little George, too! He is not well, and we do not like that he should be frightened.”“I sha’n’t frighten him or anybody, you’ll see. You had better let me come; and Spy and I will bring you a lot of game.”“We don’t want any game, at present. We have plenty to eat.”“You had better let me come and help you. I won’t hurt George, or anything. Come, I promise you you shan’t repent doing me a good turn.”“Then you shall come, Roger. But do remember that Mildred is only a little girl; and consider poor Geordie too; he is quite ill. You won't tease him? Well, here’s the line. Come as soon as you please, after I am landed.”Oliver had been in the basket, out of reach, during this conversation. He now flung down the basket line, and returned. Roger was not long in following, with some of his game, some fire-wood, and his dog. He left his bedding hidden in the thicket, and the tinder-box in a dry hole in a tree, that he might come back to his island at any time, in case of quarrel with the Linacres.Poor little George did indeed look ill. He was lying across Mildred’s lap, very fretful, his cheeks burning hot, his lips dry, and his mouth sore. Ailwin had put a charm round his neck the day before; but he did not seem to be the better for it. Busy as she was, she tied on another the moment she heard from Oliver that Roger was coming. When Roger and the basket darkened the window, Ailwin and Mildred called out at once, “Here he is!” George turned his hot head that way, and repeated, “Here he is!”“Yes, here I am! And here’s what I have brought,” said Roger, throwing down two rabbits and a leveret. He took up the leveret presently, and brought it to George, that he might feel how soft the fur was. The child flinched from him at first, but was persuaded, at length, to stroke the leveret’s back, and play with its paws.“That boy has some good in him after all,” thought Ailwin, “unless this be a trick. It is some trick, I’ll be bound.”“You are tight and dry enough here,” said Roger, glancing round the room. “By the look of the house from the hill, I thought you had been all in ruins.”The minds of Ailwin and Mildred were full of the events of the night; and they forgot that it was Roger they were speaking to when they told what their terrors had been. Ailwin had started up in the middle of the night, and run to the door; and, on opening it, had seen the stars shining bright down into the house. The roof of the other side of the house was clean gone. When Mildred looked out from the same place at sunrise, she saw the water spread almost under her feet. The floor of the landing-place, and the ceiling of one of the lower rooms had been broken up, and the planks were floating about.“Where are they?” asked Roger, quickly. “To be sure you did not let them float off, along with the kitchen things that got away through the wall?”Mildred did not know that any care had been taken of the planks. Roger was off to see, saying that they might be glad of every foot of plank they could lay their hands on.Ailwin and Mildred saw no more of either of the boys during the whole morning. They might have looked out to discover what was doing, but that neither of them liked the sight of the bare rafters overhead, or of the watery precipice at their feet. So Ailwin went on making cakes of a curious sort, as she said; cakes of meal, made up with milk and water, without either yeast or salt. They would not be spoiled by the water; that was all that could be said for them. The water which was filtered through gravel turned out quite good enough to be used in cooking, and even for poor George to drink, so very thirsty as he was. While the fowl simmered in the pot, and the cakes lay toasting on the hob, Ailwin busied herself in making the beds, and then in rubbing, with her strong arm, everything in the room, helping the floor, the walls, and the furniture to dry from the wetting of yesterday. From the smell, she said, she should have thought that everything in the house was growing mouldy before her face. They were all aware that the bad smell which they had observed yesterday, was growing worse every hour. Roger had been much struck with it the moment he entered the window.When the boys at length appeared, to say how hungry they were, they burst in more like two schoolfellows who have been trying a new game, than little lads on whom others were depending for subsistence in the midst of a heavy calamity. They had made a raft—a real stout, broad raft, which would be of more use to them (now the currents were slackening) than anything they had attempted yet. Oliver told that among the many things which the current brought from poor neighbour Gool’s, was a lot of harness from his stables. Roger had seen at once what strong fastenings this harness would make for their raft. They had then crossed to their own stable, and found their own suit of harness hanging safe against the wall which remained. They had tied their planks to three stout beams, which they had pulled out from the ruined part of their house wall. It had been pretty hard work; but the raft was secure, and well fastened, moreover, to a door-post, with a long line; so that they might row about without having always to be looking that they were not carried abroad into the carr. Oliver really thought it was almost as good as having a boat. Roger protested that it was better, because it would hold more goods: but the brother and sister could not think that the raft was the best of the two, when they remembered that a boat would carry them, perhaps, to their mother’s arms. Oliver knew what Mildred was thinking of when he said,—“We must not dream of getting away on our raft, dear. It would upset in the currents twenty times, between this place and the hills.”“Well, what of that?” said Roger. “Who wants to get to the hills? We have got all we want for a good while here. We can take our pleasure, and live as free as wild-ducks in a pond that nobody comes near.”Roger was quite in spirits and good humour. It may seem strange that a boy who was so lazy the day before, as to wish that hares ran about ready roasted, should work so hard this day at so severe a job as making a raft. But it was natural enough. There is nothing interesting to a dull and discontented person, all alone, in preparing a meal for his own self to eat: but there is something animating in planning a clever job, which can be set about immediately—a ready and willing companion being at hand to help, and to talk with. There was also something immediate to be gained by finishing this raft. One thing or another was floating by every quarter of an hour, which it would be worth while to seize and bring home. As Roger saw, now a hay-cock, and now a man’s hat, float by, he worked harder and harder, that as few treasures as possible might be thus lost. Oliver felt much in the same way, particularly from his want of a hat or cap. Ailwin had made him tie a handkerchief round his head; but it heated him, without saving him much from the scorching of the sun on his head, and the glare from the waters to his eyes.Ailwin had looked for some compliments to her cookery from the hungry boys; but they forgot, in their eagerness about the raft, that it was a treat in these days to have meal-cakes; and they ate and talked, without thinking much of what it was that they were putting into their mouths. When they went off again to see what they could find, it is not to be told how Mildred would have liked to go with them. She did not want her dinner, to which Ailwin said they two would now sit down comfortably. She did not now mind the precipice and the broken walls, and the staring rafters. She longed to stand somewhere, and see the boys take prizes in the stream. She had held poor George all the morning; for he would not let her put him on the bed. Her back ached, her arms were stiff, and her very heart was sick with his crying. He had been fretting or wailing ever since daylight; and Mildred felt as if she could not bear it one minute longer. Just then she heard a laugh from the boys outside; and Ailwin began to sing, as she always did when putting away the pots and pans. Nobody seemed to care: nobody seemed to think of her; and Mildred remembered how different it would have been if her mother had been there. Her mother would have been thinking about poor George all the morning: but her mother would have thought of her too; would have remembered that she must be tired; and have cheered her with talk, or with saying something hopeful about the poor baby.When Ailwin stopped her loud singing, for a moment, while considering in which corner she should set down her stew-pan, she heard a gentle sob. Looking round, she saw Mildred’s face covered with tears.“What’s the matter now, dear?” said she. “Is the baby worse? No,—he don’t seem worse to me.”“I don’t know, I’m sure. But, Ailwin, I am so tired, I don’t know what to do; and I cannot bear to hear him cry so. He has been crying in this way all to-day; and it is the longest day I ever knew.”“Well, I’m sure I wish we could think of anything that would quiet him. If we had only his go-cart, now, or his wooden lamb, with the white wool upon it, that he is so fond of ... But they are under water below.”“But if you could only take him for a little while, Ailwin, I should be so glad! I would wash up all your dishes for you.”“Take him! Oh, that’s what you are at! To be sure I will; and I might have thought of that before,—only I had my pans and things to put away. I’ll wash my hands now directly, and take him:—only, there is not much use in washing one’s hands: this foul damp smell seems to stick to everything one touches. It is that boy’s doing, depend upon it. He is at the bottom of all mischief.—Ay, Mildred, you need not object to what I say. After what I saw of him yesterday morning, with all that plague of animals about him on the stairs, you will never persuade me that he has not some league with bad creatures, a good way off. I don’t half like Oliver’s being with him on the raft, in the stream there. That raft was wonderfully ready made for two slips of boys.”“They had the planks ready to their hands,” said Mildred, trembling; “and leather harness and ropes to tie it with. I think they might to do it as they said. What harm do you suppose will happen, Ailwin? I am sure Oliver would do nothing wrong, about making the raft, or anything else.—O dear! I wish George would not cry so!”“Here, give him to me,” said Ailwin, who had now washed her hands, and taken off her cooking apron. “There, go you and finish the dishes, and then to play,—there’s a dear! And don’t think about George, or about Roger, and the raft, or anything that will vex you,—there’s a dear!”Ailwin gave Mildred a smacking kiss, as she received little George from her; and, though Mildred could not, as she was bid, put away all vexing thoughts, she was cheered by Ailwin’s good-will.She had soon done washing the few plates they had used, though she did the washing with the greatest care, because it was her mother’s best china, brought from Holland, and kept in the up-stairs cupboard,—ready, as it now seemed, to serve the present party, who must otherwise have gone without plates and cups, their common sets being all under water,—broken to pieces, no doubt, by this time.—George was already quieter than he had been all day; so that Mildred felt the less scruple about going out to amuse herself,—or rather, to watch her brother; for she hardly dared to take any pleasure in the raft, after what Ailwin had said; though she kept repeating to herself that it was all nonsense, such as Ailwin often talked; such as Mrs Linacre said her children must neither believe nor laugh at.Mildred went at once to the top of the staircase, which stood up firm, though the building had fallen away on almost every side of it. It was rather a giddy affair at first, sitting on the top stair of a spiral staircase of which part of the walls were gone, while the bare rafters of the roof let the water be seen through them. Mildred soon grew accustomed to her place, however, and fixed her eyes on the raft with which the boys were plying in the stream. She supposed they had caught a hay-cock; for the cow was eating, very industriously,—no longer on the dunghill, but on a slip of ground which had been left dry between it and the stable. The cow had company to share her good cheer: whether invited or uninvited, there was no saying. A strange pony was there; and a sheep, and a well-grown calf. These animals all pressed upon one another on the narrow space of ground, thrusting their heads over or under one another’s necks, to snatch the hay.“How hungry they are!” thought Mildred, “and how they tease one another!” She then remembered having read of men starving in a boat at sea, who became as selfish as these animals in snatching from one another their last remaining morsels of food. She hoped that she and Oliver should not be starved, at last, in the middle of this flood: but if they were, she did not believe that Oliver and she could ever snatch food from each other, or help themselves before Geordie, whatever Roger might do, or even Ailwin. Ailwin was very kind and good-tempered; but then she was apt to be so very hungry! However, there was no occasion to think of want of food yet. The meal which had been wetted, round the sides and under the lid of the chest, served well to feed the fowls; and they seemed to find something worth picking up in the mud and slime that the waters had left behind as they sank. The poor sow had farrowed too. She and her little pigs were found almost dead with hunger and wet: but the meal-chest had come just in time to save them. Ailwin had said it was worth while to spare them some of the meal; for the little pigs, if their mother was well fed, would give them many a good dinner. There was no occasion to fear want of food at present.The boys were on their raft in the middle of the stream, working away with their broad paddles, evidently wishing to catch something which was floating down. Mildred could see only a small tree bobbing about, sometimes showing its roots above water, and sometimes its leafy branches. What could they want with a young tree, so well off as they were for drier fire-wood than it would make? They were determined to have it, it was clear; for Roger threw down his paddle as they neared the tree, caught up a long rope, and gave it a cast towards the branching top as the rope went through the air, Mildred saw that it had a noose at the end. The noose caught:—the tree gave a topple in the water, when it found itself stopped in its course with a jerk; and the boys set up a shout as they pulled for the house, hauling in their prize after them.Mildred ran down the stairs as far as she dared,—almost to the very brink of the water. There she was near enough to see and hear what was doing. The tree was an apple-tree; and though the ripest apples were gone, a good many were left, which would be a treat when cooked. The boys saw her watching them, and Roger said it was not fair that she should stand idle while they were working like horses:—why should not she gather the apples before they were all knocked off, instead of keeping other people out of the stream to do such girls’ work? Oliver said she had been as useful as anybody all day; and she should do as she liked now. He called out to Mildred; and asked her whether she should like to gather the apples off the tree, while they went to see what else they could find. Mildred replied that she should like it very much, if they could bring in the tree to the place where she was. Ailwin would find something for her to put the apples in.Neither the raft nor the tree, however, could be got through the breach in the wall. Oliver fetched the tub, which had been discarded since the raft had been thought of. He rowed himself to the staircase in this tub, and asked Mildred if she was afraid just to cross those few yards to the wall. He would find her a nice seat on the wall, where she could sit plucking the apples, and seeing all they did on the raft. He would be sure to come, for her, as soon as she should make a signal for him. Meantime, the tub would hold the apples.Mildred had a great fancy for sharing the boys’ adventures; and though the tub looked a small, unsteady boat, she ventured to slide down into it, and sit in it, while her brother rowed her over to the broken wall. She was so silent that Oliver thought she was frightened; but she was considering whether or not to tell him of Ailwin’s fears of his being on the raft with Roger. Before she had decided, they had come within hearing of Roger, and it was too late.After finding a steady broad stone in the wall for her to sit on, Oliver chose to stay a little while, to cut and break off from the trunk the branches that had the most fruit on them. This would make Mildred’s work much easier. Oliver also chose, in spite of all Roger could say, to leave her one of their paddles. He considered (though he did not say it) that some accident might possibly happen to the raft, to prevent their returning for her: and he declared that Mildred should have an oar to row herself in with, if she should have a mind to join Ailwin, at any moment, instead of waiting where she was. So having moored the tub inside the house wall, and the apple-tree outside, and established Mildred on a good seat between, the boys pushed off again.Mildred found that she had undertaken a wet and dirty task. The branches of the apple-tree were dripping, and the fruit covered with slime; but these are things which must not be minded in times of flood. So she went on, often looking away, however, to wonder what things were which were swept past her, and to watch the proceedings of the boys. After a while, she became so bold as to consider what a curious thing it would be if she, without any raft, should pick up some article as valuable as any that had swum the stream. This thought was put into her head by seeing something occasionally flap out upon the surface of the muddy water, as if it were spread out below. It looked to her like the tail of a coat, or the skirt of a petticoat. She was just about to fish it up with her paddle, when it occurred to her that it might be the clothing of a drowned person. She shrank back at the thought, and in the first terror of having a dead body so near her, called Oliver’s name. He did not hear; and she would not repeat the call when she saw how busy he was. She tried not to think of this piece of cloth; but it came up perpetually before her eyes, flap, flapping, till she felt that it would be best to satisfy herself at once, as to what it was.She poked her paddle underneath the flap, and found that it was caught and held down by something heavy. She tugged hard at it, and raised some more blue cloth. She did not believe there was a body now; and she laid hold of the cloth and drew it in. It was heavy in itself, and made more so by the wet, so that the little girl had to set her foot against a stone in the wall, and employ all her strength, before she could land the cloth, yard after yard, upon the wall. It was a piece of home-spun, probably laid out on the grass of some field in the Levels, after dyeing, and so carried away. When Mildred had pulled in a vast quantity, there was some resistance;—the rest would not come. Perhaps something heavy had lodged upon it, and kept it down. Again she used her paddle, setting her feet against one stone, and pressing her back against another, to give her more power. In the midst of the effort, the stone behind her gave way. It was her paddle now, resting against some support under water, which saved her from popping into the water with the great stone. As it was, she swayed upon her seat, and was very nearly gone, while the heavy stone slid in, and raised a splash which wetted her from head to foot, and left her trembling in every limb. She had fancied, once or twice before, that the wall shook under her: she was now persuaded that it was all shaking, and would soon be carried quite away. She screamed out to Oliver to come and save her. She must have called very loud; for Ailwin, with George in her arms, was out on the staircase in a moment.There was a scuffle on the raft. It seemed as if Oliver was paddling with one hand, and keeping off Roger with the other. It was terrible to see them,—it was so like fighting, in a most dangerous place. There was a splash. Mildred’s eyes grew dim in a moment, and she could see nothing: but she heard Ailwin’s voice,—very joyful,—calling out to Oliver,—“Well done, Oliver! Well rid of him! Pull away from him, Oliver! He is full able to take care of himself, depend upon it. He was never made to be drowned. Come and help Mildred, there’s a dear! Never mind Roger.”Mildred soon saw the raft approaching her, with Oliver alone upon it.“Oh! Oliver, where is he? What have you done?” cried Mildred, as her brother arrived at the wall.Oliver was very hot, and his lips quivered as he answered,—“I don’t know what I have done. I could not help it. He wanted me not to come to you when you screamed. He wanted to catch the chest instead. I tripped him up—off into the water. He can swim. But there is the tub—give me hold of the rope—quick! I will send it out into the stream. He may meet it.”Down went all the gathered apples into the water, within the wall, and off went the tub outside. Oliver fastened the line round a heavy stone in the wall.“I wish I had never screamed!” exclaimed Mildred.“I am sure I wish so too. Youmustleave off screaming so, Mildred. I am sure I thought you were in the water, in the middle of all that splash, or I should not have been in such a hurry. If Roger should be drowned, it will be all your doing, for screaming so.”Mildred did not scream now; but she cried very bitterly. It was soon seen, however, that Roger was safe. He was swimming in the still water on the opposite side, and presently landed beside the pony and cow. He left off wringing the wet out of his hair and clothes, to shake both his fists at Oliver in a threatening way.“Oh, look at him! He will kill you!” cried Mildred. “I never will scream again.”“Never mind, as long as he is safe,” said Oliver. “I don’t care for his shaking his fists. It was my business to save you, before caring about him, or all the chests in the Levels. Never mind now, dear. You won't scream again without occasion, I know. What made you do so? You can’t think what a shriek it was. It went through my head.”“Part of the wall fell; and the whole of it shakes so, I am sure it will all be down presently. I wish we were at home. But what shall we ever do about Roger? He will kill you, if you go near him: and he can’t stay there.”“Leave Roger to me,” said Oliver, feeling secretly some of his sister’s fear of the consequences of what had just passed. He stepped on the wall, and was convinced that it was shaking,—almost rocking. He declared that it was quite unsafe, and that he must look to the remaining walls before they slept another night in the building. Mildred must get upon the raft immediately. What was that heap of blue cloth?Mildred explained, and the cloth was declared too valuable to be left behind. Two pairs of hands availed to pull up the end which stuck under water, and then the children found themselves in possession of a whole piece of home-spun.“May we use it? We did not make it, or buy it,” said Mildred.“I thought of that too,” replied her brother. “We will see about that. It is our business to save it, at any rate; so help me with it. How heavy it is with the water!”They pulled a dozen apples, and rowed away home with their prize.Ailwin said, as she met them on the stairs, that she was glad enough to see them home again; and more especially without Roger.“Roger must be fetched, however,” said Oliver, “and the sooner the better.”“Oh not yet!” pleaded Mildred. “He is so angry!”“That is the very thing,” said Oliver. “I want to show him that I tripped him over, not in anger, but because I could not help it. He will never believe but that it was malice, from beginning to end, if I do not go for him directly.”“But he will thrash you. You know he can. He is ever so much stronger than you; and he is in such a passion, I do not know what he may not do.”“What can I do?” said Oliver. “I can’t leave him there, standing dripping wet, with the cow and the pony.”“Would it be of any use if I were to go with you, and say it was all my fault?” asked Mildred, trembling.“No, no; you must not go.”“I would go, if there was no water between, and if Mildred would take care of the baby,” said Ailwin.“Oh do,—do go! You are so strong!” said both the children.“Why, you see, I can’t abide going on the water, any way, and never could: and most of all without so much as a boat.”“But I will row you as carefully,” said Oliver, “as safely as in any boat. You see how often we have crossed, and how easy it is. You cannot think what care I will take of you, if you will go.”“Then there’s the coming back,” objected Ailwin. “If I am on board the same raft with Roger, we shall all go to the bottom, that’s certain!”“How often have I been to the bottom? And yet I have been on the raft with Roger, ever since it was made.”“Well, and think how near Mildred was going to the bottom, only just now. I declare I thought we had seen the last of her.”“Roger had nothing to do with that, you know very well. But I will tell you how we can manage. You can carry your pail over, and,—(never mind its being so early)—you can be milking the cow while I bring Roger over here; and I can come back for you. That will do,—won’t it? Come,—fetch your pail. Depend upon it that is the best plan.”Mildred remembered, with great fear, that by this plan Roger would be left with her and George while Oliver went to fetch Ailwin home: but she did not say a word, feeling that she who had caused the mischief ought not to object to Oliver’s plan for getting out of the scrape. She need not have feared that Oliver would neglect her feelings. Just before he put off with Ailwin and her milk-pail, he said to his sister—“I shall try to set Roger down somewhere, so that he cannot plague you and George; but you had better bolt yourself into the room up-stairs when you see us coming; and on no account open the door again till I bid you.”Mildred promised, and then sat down with George asleep on her lap, to watch the event. She saw Ailwin make some odd gestures as she stood on the raft, balancing herself as if she thought the boards would gape under her feet. Oliver paddled diligently, looking behind him oftener and oftener, as he drew near the landing-place, as if to learn what Roger meant to do when they came within his reach.The moment the boys were within arm’s length of each other, Roger sprang furiously upon Oliver, and would have thrown him down in an instant, if Oliver had not expected this, and been upon his guard. Oliver managed to jump ashore; and there the boys fought fiercely. There could be no doubt from the beginning which would be beaten,—Roger was so much the taller and stronger of the two, and so much the less peaceable in all his habits than Oliver: but yet Oliver made good fight for some time, before he was knocked down completely. Roger was just about to give his fallen enemy a kick in the stomach, when Ailwin seized him, and said she was not going to see her young master killed before her face, by boy or devil, whichever Roger might be. She tripped him up; and before Oliver had risen, Roger lay sprawling, with Ailwin kneeling upon him to keep him down. Roger shouted out that they were two to one,—cowards, to fight him two to one!“I am as sorry for that as you can be,” said Oliver, dashing away the blood which streamed from his nose. “I wish I were as old and as tall as you: but I am not. And this is no fighting for play, when it would not signify if I was beaten every day for a week. Here are Mildred and the baby; I have to take care of them till we know what has become of my father and mother: and if you try to prevent me, I will get Ailwin, or anybody or thing I can, to help me, sooner than they shall be hurt. If father and mother ever come back to take care of Mildred, I will fight you every day till I beat you, and let nobody interfere: but till then, I will go to Mildred as often as she calls, if you drown for it, as I showed you this morning.”Roger answered only by fresh kicks and struggles. Ailwin said aloud that she saw nothing for it but leaving him on this spit of land, to starve on the dunghill. There would be no taking him over to the house in this temper. Roger vowed he would drown all the little pigs, and hough the cow. He had done such a thing before; and he would do it again; so that they should not have a drop more milk for George.“That will never do,” said Oliver. “Ailwin, do you think we could get him over to the Red-hill? He would have plenty to eat there, and might do as he pleased, and be out of our way and the cow’s. I could carry him his dog.”Ailwin asked Oliver to bring her the cord from off the raft, and they two could tie up the boy from doing mischief. Oliver brought the cord, but he could not bear to think of using it so.“Come, now, Roger,” said he, “you picked this quarrel; and you may get out of it in a moment. We don’t want to quarrel at such a time as this. Never mind what has happened. Only say you won’t meddle between me and the others while the flood lasts; and you shall help me to row home, and I will thank you. After all, we can fight it out some other day, if you like.”More kicks from Roger. No other answer. So Oliver and Ailwin tied his arms and legs with the cord; and then Ailwin proceeded to milk the cow, and Oliver, after washing his face, to give the pony some more hay, and see how the little pigs went on. The animals were all drooping, and especially the cow. Oliver wished to have given the pigs some of her milk, as the poor sow seemed weak and ill; but the cow gave so very little milk this afternoon, that there was none to spare. Her legs trembled as she stood to be milked; and she lay down again, as soon as Ailwin had done.“The poor thing ain’t long for this world,” said Ailwin. “Depend upon it that boy has bewitched her. I don’t believe she trembles in that way when he is on the other side of the water.”“You will see that in the morning,” said Oliver. “Shall we take him on the raft now? I don’t like to carry him tied so, for fear he should throw himself about, and roll over into the water. He would certainly be drowned.”“Leave that to him, Oliver: and take my word for it, that boy was never made to be drowned.”“You thought the same about Stephen, you know; and he is drowned, I am afraid.”“Neither you nor I know that. I will believe it when I see it,” said Ailwin with a wise look.It was now Roger’s mood to lie like one dead. He did not move a muscle when he was lifted, and laid on the raft. Ailwin was so delighted to see the boy she was so afraid of thus humbled, that she could not help giving his face a splash and rub with the muddy water of the stream as he lay.“Ailwin, for shame!” cried Oliver. “I will fight you next, if you do so. You know you durst not, if his hands were free.”“To be sure, Oliver, that is the very reason. One must take one’s revenge while one can. However, I won’t notice him any more till you do.”“Cannot you set down your pail, and help me to row?” asked Oliver. He was quite tired. The raft was heavy now; his nose had not left off bleeding, and his head ached sadly. Three pulls from Ailwin brought them nearer home than all Oliver’s previous efforts. He observed that they must get round the house, if possible, and into the stream which ran through the garden, so as to land Roger on the Red-hill.There was not much difficulty in getting round, as everything like a fence had long been swept away. As they passed near the entrance-door to the garden, they observed that the waters were still sinking. They stood now only half-way up the door-posts. Oliver declared that when he was a little less tired, he would go through the lower rooms in a tub, and see whether he could pick up anything useful. He feared, however, that almost everything must have been swept off through the windows, in the water-falls that Mildred had thought so pretty, the first day of the flood.“There is a chest!” exclaimed Oliver, pointing to a little creek in which a stout chest had stuck. “Roger, I do believe it is the very chest that ... that we began our quarrel about. Come, now, is not this a sign that we ought to make it up?”Roger would not appear to hear: so his companions made short work of it. They pulled in for the shore of the Red-hill, and laid Roger on the slimy bank:—for they saw no occasion to carry one so heavy and so sulky up to the nice bed of grass which was spread at the top of the red precipice that the waters had cut Oliver knew that there was a knife in Roger’s pocket. He took it out, cut the cord which tied his wrists, and threw the knife to a little distance, where Roger could easily reach it in order to free his legs; but not in time to overtake them before they should have put off again.Roger made one catch at Oliver’s leg, but missing it, lay again as if dead; and Ailwin believed he had not yet stirred when the raft rounded the house again, with the great chest in tow.Mildred was delighted to see them back, and especially without Roger. She thought Oliver’s face looked very shocking, but Oliver would not say a word about this, or anything else, till he had found Roger’s dog, and gone over in the basket, to set him ashore with his master.“There!” said he, as he stepped in at the window when this was accomplished, “we have done their business. There they are, in their desert island, as they were before. Now we need not think any more about them, but attend to our own affairs.”“Your face, Oliver! Pray do—”“Never mind my face, dear, if it does not frighten poor Geordie. How is poor Geordie?”“I do not think he is any better. I never saw him so fretful, and so hot and ill. And he cries so dreadfully!”

More than once during the long night, Roger heard strange sounds; and Spy repeatedly raised his head, and seemed uneasy. Above the constant flow of the stream, there came occasionally a sort of roar, then a rumble and a splash, and the stream appeared to flow on faster. Once Roger rose in the belief that the house,—the firm, substantial, stone house,—was washed down. But it was not so. There was no moon at the time of night when he looked forth; but it was clear starlight; and there stood the dark mass of the building in the midst of the grey waters. Roger vowed he would not get up from his warm rug again, on any false alarm; and so lay till broad daylight, sometimes quite asleep, and sometimes drowsily, resolving that he would think no more of uncle Stephen, except in the day-time.

Soon after sunrise, however, a renewed rumble and splash roused him to open his eyes wide. What he saw made him jump up, and run to the edge of the precipice, to see all he could. The greater part of the roof of the house was gone; and there were cracks in the solid stone walls through which the yellow sunshine found its way. One portion of the wall leaned in; another leaned out towards the water. At first Roger expected to see the whole building crumble down into the stream, and supposed that the inhabitants might be swept quite away. He gazed with the strange feeling that not a creature might be now left alive in that habitation.

Roger’s heart sank within him at the idea of his own solitude, if this were indeed the case. He had nothing to fear for his own safety. The Red-hill would not be swept away. He could live as he was for a long time to come; till some some steps should be taken for repairing the damage of the flood; till some explorers should arrive in a boat; which he had no doubt would happen soon. It was not about his own safety that Roger was anxious; but it frightened him to think of being entirely alone in such a place as this, with the bodies of all whom he knew best lying under the waters on every side of him. If he could have Oliver with him to speak to, or even little George, it would make all the difference to him. He really hoped they were left alive. When he began to consider, he perceived that the bridge-rope remained, stretched as tight as ever. The chamber window, and indeed all that wall of the house, looked firm and safe; and such roof as was left was over that part. This was natural enough, as the violence of the flood was much greater on the opposite side of the house than on the garden side. The staircase was safe. It was laid open to view very curiously; but it stood upright and steady: and, at length, to Roger’s great relief, Mildred appeared upon it. She merely ran up to fetch something from the roof; but her step, her run and jump, was, to Roger’s mind, different from what it would have been if she had been in great affliction or fear. In his pleasure at this, he snatched his cap from his head, and waved it: but the little girl was very busy, and she did not see him. It was odd, Roger said to himself, that the Linacres were always now thinking of everything but him, when formerly they could never watch him enough.

After a while he descended the bank, to fill his boiler with water. It was necessary to do this for some time before drinking, in order that the mud might settle. Even after standing for several hours, the day before, the water was far from clear; and it was very far from sweet. This was nothing new to Roger, however, who had been accustomed to drink water like this as often as he had been settled in the carr, though he had occasionally been allowed to mix with it some gin from his uncle’s bottle. He was thirsty enough this morning to drink almost anything; but he did think the water in the boiler looked particularly muddy and disagreeable. Spy seemed as thirsty as himself, and as little disposed to drink of the stream as it ran below. He pranced about the boiler, as if watching for an opportunity to wet his tongue, if his master should turn his back for a minute.

The opportunity soon came; for Roger saw the bridge-basket put out of the window by Ailwin; after which, Oliver got into it. Ailwin handed him something, as he pulled away for the Red-hill. With a skip and a jump Roger ran to the beach to await him.

“Pull away! That’s right! Glad to see you!” exclaimed Roger. “Halloo, Spy! Down, sir! Pleased to see you, Oliver.”

Oliver was glad to hear these words. He did not know but that he might have been met by abuse and violence, for having carried home the basket.

“Would you like some milk?” asked Oliver, as he came near.

“Ay, that I should,” replied Roger.

“Leave yonder water to your dog, then, and drink this,” said Oliver, handing down a small tin can. “You must let me have the can, though. Almost all our kitchen things floated out through the wall, at that breach that you see, during the night. You must give me the can again, if you would like that I should bring you some more milk this afternoon. The poor cow is doing but badly, and we cannot feed her as we should like: but she has given milk enough for George this morning, with a little to spare for us and you. You seem to like it,” he added, laughing to see how Roger smacked his lips over the draught.

“That I do. It is good stuff, I know,” said Roger, as he drained the last drop.

“Then I will bring you some more in the afternoon, if there is any to spare from poor George’s supper.”

“That’s a pity. You’ve enough to do, I think. Suppose I come over. Eh?”

“There is something to be said about that,” replied Oliver, gravely. “We do not want to keep what we have to ourselves. We have got a chest of meal, this morning.”

“A chest of meal!”

“Yes: a large chest, and not wet at all, except an inch deep all round the outside. We caught it just now as it was floating by; and we should like you to have some of it, as you have no bread here: but you know, Roger, you kicked our poor cow when she was too weak to stand; and you carried away our tinder-box when you knew we had no fire. We don’t want to have you with us to do such things: and so I think I had better bring you some of the meal over here. And yet it is a pity; for the broth that Ailwin is making will be very good.”

“I’ll come over,” said Roger. “I am stronger than you, and I can help you to feed the cow, and everything.”

“I can do all that, with Ailwin to help: and I am sure Mildred had much rather you should stay here, unless you behave differently. And poor little George, too! He is not well, and we do not like that he should be frightened.”

“I sha’n’t frighten him or anybody, you’ll see. You had better let me come; and Spy and I will bring you a lot of game.”

“We don’t want any game, at present. We have plenty to eat.”

“You had better let me come and help you. I won’t hurt George, or anything. Come, I promise you you shan’t repent doing me a good turn.”

“Then you shall come, Roger. But do remember that Mildred is only a little girl; and consider poor Geordie too; he is quite ill. You won't tease him? Well, here’s the line. Come as soon as you please, after I am landed.”

Oliver had been in the basket, out of reach, during this conversation. He now flung down the basket line, and returned. Roger was not long in following, with some of his game, some fire-wood, and his dog. He left his bedding hidden in the thicket, and the tinder-box in a dry hole in a tree, that he might come back to his island at any time, in case of quarrel with the Linacres.

Poor little George did indeed look ill. He was lying across Mildred’s lap, very fretful, his cheeks burning hot, his lips dry, and his mouth sore. Ailwin had put a charm round his neck the day before; but he did not seem to be the better for it. Busy as she was, she tied on another the moment she heard from Oliver that Roger was coming. When Roger and the basket darkened the window, Ailwin and Mildred called out at once, “Here he is!” George turned his hot head that way, and repeated, “Here he is!”

“Yes, here I am! And here’s what I have brought,” said Roger, throwing down two rabbits and a leveret. He took up the leveret presently, and brought it to George, that he might feel how soft the fur was. The child flinched from him at first, but was persuaded, at length, to stroke the leveret’s back, and play with its paws.

“That boy has some good in him after all,” thought Ailwin, “unless this be a trick. It is some trick, I’ll be bound.”

“You are tight and dry enough here,” said Roger, glancing round the room. “By the look of the house from the hill, I thought you had been all in ruins.”

The minds of Ailwin and Mildred were full of the events of the night; and they forgot that it was Roger they were speaking to when they told what their terrors had been. Ailwin had started up in the middle of the night, and run to the door; and, on opening it, had seen the stars shining bright down into the house. The roof of the other side of the house was clean gone. When Mildred looked out from the same place at sunrise, she saw the water spread almost under her feet. The floor of the landing-place, and the ceiling of one of the lower rooms had been broken up, and the planks were floating about.

“Where are they?” asked Roger, quickly. “To be sure you did not let them float off, along with the kitchen things that got away through the wall?”

Mildred did not know that any care had been taken of the planks. Roger was off to see, saying that they might be glad of every foot of plank they could lay their hands on.

Ailwin and Mildred saw no more of either of the boys during the whole morning. They might have looked out to discover what was doing, but that neither of them liked the sight of the bare rafters overhead, or of the watery precipice at their feet. So Ailwin went on making cakes of a curious sort, as she said; cakes of meal, made up with milk and water, without either yeast or salt. They would not be spoiled by the water; that was all that could be said for them. The water which was filtered through gravel turned out quite good enough to be used in cooking, and even for poor George to drink, so very thirsty as he was. While the fowl simmered in the pot, and the cakes lay toasting on the hob, Ailwin busied herself in making the beds, and then in rubbing, with her strong arm, everything in the room, helping the floor, the walls, and the furniture to dry from the wetting of yesterday. From the smell, she said, she should have thought that everything in the house was growing mouldy before her face. They were all aware that the bad smell which they had observed yesterday, was growing worse every hour. Roger had been much struck with it the moment he entered the window.

When the boys at length appeared, to say how hungry they were, they burst in more like two schoolfellows who have been trying a new game, than little lads on whom others were depending for subsistence in the midst of a heavy calamity. They had made a raft—a real stout, broad raft, which would be of more use to them (now the currents were slackening) than anything they had attempted yet. Oliver told that among the many things which the current brought from poor neighbour Gool’s, was a lot of harness from his stables. Roger had seen at once what strong fastenings this harness would make for their raft. They had then crossed to their own stable, and found their own suit of harness hanging safe against the wall which remained. They had tied their planks to three stout beams, which they had pulled out from the ruined part of their house wall. It had been pretty hard work; but the raft was secure, and well fastened, moreover, to a door-post, with a long line; so that they might row about without having always to be looking that they were not carried abroad into the carr. Oliver really thought it was almost as good as having a boat. Roger protested that it was better, because it would hold more goods: but the brother and sister could not think that the raft was the best of the two, when they remembered that a boat would carry them, perhaps, to their mother’s arms. Oliver knew what Mildred was thinking of when he said,—

“We must not dream of getting away on our raft, dear. It would upset in the currents twenty times, between this place and the hills.”

“Well, what of that?” said Roger. “Who wants to get to the hills? We have got all we want for a good while here. We can take our pleasure, and live as free as wild-ducks in a pond that nobody comes near.”

Roger was quite in spirits and good humour. It may seem strange that a boy who was so lazy the day before, as to wish that hares ran about ready roasted, should work so hard this day at so severe a job as making a raft. But it was natural enough. There is nothing interesting to a dull and discontented person, all alone, in preparing a meal for his own self to eat: but there is something animating in planning a clever job, which can be set about immediately—a ready and willing companion being at hand to help, and to talk with. There was also something immediate to be gained by finishing this raft. One thing or another was floating by every quarter of an hour, which it would be worth while to seize and bring home. As Roger saw, now a hay-cock, and now a man’s hat, float by, he worked harder and harder, that as few treasures as possible might be thus lost. Oliver felt much in the same way, particularly from his want of a hat or cap. Ailwin had made him tie a handkerchief round his head; but it heated him, without saving him much from the scorching of the sun on his head, and the glare from the waters to his eyes.

Ailwin had looked for some compliments to her cookery from the hungry boys; but they forgot, in their eagerness about the raft, that it was a treat in these days to have meal-cakes; and they ate and talked, without thinking much of what it was that they were putting into their mouths. When they went off again to see what they could find, it is not to be told how Mildred would have liked to go with them. She did not want her dinner, to which Ailwin said they two would now sit down comfortably. She did not now mind the precipice and the broken walls, and the staring rafters. She longed to stand somewhere, and see the boys take prizes in the stream. She had held poor George all the morning; for he would not let her put him on the bed. Her back ached, her arms were stiff, and her very heart was sick with his crying. He had been fretting or wailing ever since daylight; and Mildred felt as if she could not bear it one minute longer. Just then she heard a laugh from the boys outside; and Ailwin began to sing, as she always did when putting away the pots and pans. Nobody seemed to care: nobody seemed to think of her; and Mildred remembered how different it would have been if her mother had been there. Her mother would have been thinking about poor George all the morning: but her mother would have thought of her too; would have remembered that she must be tired; and have cheered her with talk, or with saying something hopeful about the poor baby.

When Ailwin stopped her loud singing, for a moment, while considering in which corner she should set down her stew-pan, she heard a gentle sob. Looking round, she saw Mildred’s face covered with tears.

“What’s the matter now, dear?” said she. “Is the baby worse? No,—he don’t seem worse to me.”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. But, Ailwin, I am so tired, I don’t know what to do; and I cannot bear to hear him cry so. He has been crying in this way all to-day; and it is the longest day I ever knew.”

“Well, I’m sure I wish we could think of anything that would quiet him. If we had only his go-cart, now, or his wooden lamb, with the white wool upon it, that he is so fond of ... But they are under water below.”

“But if you could only take him for a little while, Ailwin, I should be so glad! I would wash up all your dishes for you.”

“Take him! Oh, that’s what you are at! To be sure I will; and I might have thought of that before,—only I had my pans and things to put away. I’ll wash my hands now directly, and take him:—only, there is not much use in washing one’s hands: this foul damp smell seems to stick to everything one touches. It is that boy’s doing, depend upon it. He is at the bottom of all mischief.—Ay, Mildred, you need not object to what I say. After what I saw of him yesterday morning, with all that plague of animals about him on the stairs, you will never persuade me that he has not some league with bad creatures, a good way off. I don’t half like Oliver’s being with him on the raft, in the stream there. That raft was wonderfully ready made for two slips of boys.”

“They had the planks ready to their hands,” said Mildred, trembling; “and leather harness and ropes to tie it with. I think they might to do it as they said. What harm do you suppose will happen, Ailwin? I am sure Oliver would do nothing wrong, about making the raft, or anything else.—O dear! I wish George would not cry so!”

“Here, give him to me,” said Ailwin, who had now washed her hands, and taken off her cooking apron. “There, go you and finish the dishes, and then to play,—there’s a dear! And don’t think about George, or about Roger, and the raft, or anything that will vex you,—there’s a dear!”

Ailwin gave Mildred a smacking kiss, as she received little George from her; and, though Mildred could not, as she was bid, put away all vexing thoughts, she was cheered by Ailwin’s good-will.

She had soon done washing the few plates they had used, though she did the washing with the greatest care, because it was her mother’s best china, brought from Holland, and kept in the up-stairs cupboard,—ready, as it now seemed, to serve the present party, who must otherwise have gone without plates and cups, their common sets being all under water,—broken to pieces, no doubt, by this time.—George was already quieter than he had been all day; so that Mildred felt the less scruple about going out to amuse herself,—or rather, to watch her brother; for she hardly dared to take any pleasure in the raft, after what Ailwin had said; though she kept repeating to herself that it was all nonsense, such as Ailwin often talked; such as Mrs Linacre said her children must neither believe nor laugh at.

Mildred went at once to the top of the staircase, which stood up firm, though the building had fallen away on almost every side of it. It was rather a giddy affair at first, sitting on the top stair of a spiral staircase of which part of the walls were gone, while the bare rafters of the roof let the water be seen through them. Mildred soon grew accustomed to her place, however, and fixed her eyes on the raft with which the boys were plying in the stream. She supposed they had caught a hay-cock; for the cow was eating, very industriously,—no longer on the dunghill, but on a slip of ground which had been left dry between it and the stable. The cow had company to share her good cheer: whether invited or uninvited, there was no saying. A strange pony was there; and a sheep, and a well-grown calf. These animals all pressed upon one another on the narrow space of ground, thrusting their heads over or under one another’s necks, to snatch the hay.

“How hungry they are!” thought Mildred, “and how they tease one another!” She then remembered having read of men starving in a boat at sea, who became as selfish as these animals in snatching from one another their last remaining morsels of food. She hoped that she and Oliver should not be starved, at last, in the middle of this flood: but if they were, she did not believe that Oliver and she could ever snatch food from each other, or help themselves before Geordie, whatever Roger might do, or even Ailwin. Ailwin was very kind and good-tempered; but then she was apt to be so very hungry! However, there was no occasion to think of want of food yet. The meal which had been wetted, round the sides and under the lid of the chest, served well to feed the fowls; and they seemed to find something worth picking up in the mud and slime that the waters had left behind as they sank. The poor sow had farrowed too. She and her little pigs were found almost dead with hunger and wet: but the meal-chest had come just in time to save them. Ailwin had said it was worth while to spare them some of the meal; for the little pigs, if their mother was well fed, would give them many a good dinner. There was no occasion to fear want of food at present.

The boys were on their raft in the middle of the stream, working away with their broad paddles, evidently wishing to catch something which was floating down. Mildred could see only a small tree bobbing about, sometimes showing its roots above water, and sometimes its leafy branches. What could they want with a young tree, so well off as they were for drier fire-wood than it would make? They were determined to have it, it was clear; for Roger threw down his paddle as they neared the tree, caught up a long rope, and gave it a cast towards the branching top as the rope went through the air, Mildred saw that it had a noose at the end. The noose caught:—the tree gave a topple in the water, when it found itself stopped in its course with a jerk; and the boys set up a shout as they pulled for the house, hauling in their prize after them.

Mildred ran down the stairs as far as she dared,—almost to the very brink of the water. There she was near enough to see and hear what was doing. The tree was an apple-tree; and though the ripest apples were gone, a good many were left, which would be a treat when cooked. The boys saw her watching them, and Roger said it was not fair that she should stand idle while they were working like horses:—why should not she gather the apples before they were all knocked off, instead of keeping other people out of the stream to do such girls’ work? Oliver said she had been as useful as anybody all day; and she should do as she liked now. He called out to Mildred; and asked her whether she should like to gather the apples off the tree, while they went to see what else they could find. Mildred replied that she should like it very much, if they could bring in the tree to the place where she was. Ailwin would find something for her to put the apples in.

Neither the raft nor the tree, however, could be got through the breach in the wall. Oliver fetched the tub, which had been discarded since the raft had been thought of. He rowed himself to the staircase in this tub, and asked Mildred if she was afraid just to cross those few yards to the wall. He would find her a nice seat on the wall, where she could sit plucking the apples, and seeing all they did on the raft. He would be sure to come, for her, as soon as she should make a signal for him. Meantime, the tub would hold the apples.

Mildred had a great fancy for sharing the boys’ adventures; and though the tub looked a small, unsteady boat, she ventured to slide down into it, and sit in it, while her brother rowed her over to the broken wall. She was so silent that Oliver thought she was frightened; but she was considering whether or not to tell him of Ailwin’s fears of his being on the raft with Roger. Before she had decided, they had come within hearing of Roger, and it was too late.

After finding a steady broad stone in the wall for her to sit on, Oliver chose to stay a little while, to cut and break off from the trunk the branches that had the most fruit on them. This would make Mildred’s work much easier. Oliver also chose, in spite of all Roger could say, to leave her one of their paddles. He considered (though he did not say it) that some accident might possibly happen to the raft, to prevent their returning for her: and he declared that Mildred should have an oar to row herself in with, if she should have a mind to join Ailwin, at any moment, instead of waiting where she was. So having moored the tub inside the house wall, and the apple-tree outside, and established Mildred on a good seat between, the boys pushed off again.

Mildred found that she had undertaken a wet and dirty task. The branches of the apple-tree were dripping, and the fruit covered with slime; but these are things which must not be minded in times of flood. So she went on, often looking away, however, to wonder what things were which were swept past her, and to watch the proceedings of the boys. After a while, she became so bold as to consider what a curious thing it would be if she, without any raft, should pick up some article as valuable as any that had swum the stream. This thought was put into her head by seeing something occasionally flap out upon the surface of the muddy water, as if it were spread out below. It looked to her like the tail of a coat, or the skirt of a petticoat. She was just about to fish it up with her paddle, when it occurred to her that it might be the clothing of a drowned person. She shrank back at the thought, and in the first terror of having a dead body so near her, called Oliver’s name. He did not hear; and she would not repeat the call when she saw how busy he was. She tried not to think of this piece of cloth; but it came up perpetually before her eyes, flap, flapping, till she felt that it would be best to satisfy herself at once, as to what it was.

She poked her paddle underneath the flap, and found that it was caught and held down by something heavy. She tugged hard at it, and raised some more blue cloth. She did not believe there was a body now; and she laid hold of the cloth and drew it in. It was heavy in itself, and made more so by the wet, so that the little girl had to set her foot against a stone in the wall, and employ all her strength, before she could land the cloth, yard after yard, upon the wall. It was a piece of home-spun, probably laid out on the grass of some field in the Levels, after dyeing, and so carried away. When Mildred had pulled in a vast quantity, there was some resistance;—the rest would not come. Perhaps something heavy had lodged upon it, and kept it down. Again she used her paddle, setting her feet against one stone, and pressing her back against another, to give her more power. In the midst of the effort, the stone behind her gave way. It was her paddle now, resting against some support under water, which saved her from popping into the water with the great stone. As it was, she swayed upon her seat, and was very nearly gone, while the heavy stone slid in, and raised a splash which wetted her from head to foot, and left her trembling in every limb. She had fancied, once or twice before, that the wall shook under her: she was now persuaded that it was all shaking, and would soon be carried quite away. She screamed out to Oliver to come and save her. She must have called very loud; for Ailwin, with George in her arms, was out on the staircase in a moment.

There was a scuffle on the raft. It seemed as if Oliver was paddling with one hand, and keeping off Roger with the other. It was terrible to see them,—it was so like fighting, in a most dangerous place. There was a splash. Mildred’s eyes grew dim in a moment, and she could see nothing: but she heard Ailwin’s voice,—very joyful,—calling out to Oliver,—

“Well done, Oliver! Well rid of him! Pull away from him, Oliver! He is full able to take care of himself, depend upon it. He was never made to be drowned. Come and help Mildred, there’s a dear! Never mind Roger.”

Mildred soon saw the raft approaching her, with Oliver alone upon it.

“Oh! Oliver, where is he? What have you done?” cried Mildred, as her brother arrived at the wall.

Oliver was very hot, and his lips quivered as he answered,—

“I don’t know what I have done. I could not help it. He wanted me not to come to you when you screamed. He wanted to catch the chest instead. I tripped him up—off into the water. He can swim. But there is the tub—give me hold of the rope—quick! I will send it out into the stream. He may meet it.”

Down went all the gathered apples into the water, within the wall, and off went the tub outside. Oliver fastened the line round a heavy stone in the wall.

“I wish I had never screamed!” exclaimed Mildred.

“I am sure I wish so too. Youmustleave off screaming so, Mildred. I am sure I thought you were in the water, in the middle of all that splash, or I should not have been in such a hurry. If Roger should be drowned, it will be all your doing, for screaming so.”

Mildred did not scream now; but she cried very bitterly. It was soon seen, however, that Roger was safe. He was swimming in the still water on the opposite side, and presently landed beside the pony and cow. He left off wringing the wet out of his hair and clothes, to shake both his fists at Oliver in a threatening way.

“Oh, look at him! He will kill you!” cried Mildred. “I never will scream again.”

“Never mind, as long as he is safe,” said Oliver. “I don’t care for his shaking his fists. It was my business to save you, before caring about him, or all the chests in the Levels. Never mind now, dear. You won't scream again without occasion, I know. What made you do so? You can’t think what a shriek it was. It went through my head.”

“Part of the wall fell; and the whole of it shakes so, I am sure it will all be down presently. I wish we were at home. But what shall we ever do about Roger? He will kill you, if you go near him: and he can’t stay there.”

“Leave Roger to me,” said Oliver, feeling secretly some of his sister’s fear of the consequences of what had just passed. He stepped on the wall, and was convinced that it was shaking,—almost rocking. He declared that it was quite unsafe, and that he must look to the remaining walls before they slept another night in the building. Mildred must get upon the raft immediately. What was that heap of blue cloth?

Mildred explained, and the cloth was declared too valuable to be left behind. Two pairs of hands availed to pull up the end which stuck under water, and then the children found themselves in possession of a whole piece of home-spun.

“May we use it? We did not make it, or buy it,” said Mildred.

“I thought of that too,” replied her brother. “We will see about that. It is our business to save it, at any rate; so help me with it. How heavy it is with the water!”

They pulled a dozen apples, and rowed away home with their prize.

Ailwin said, as she met them on the stairs, that she was glad enough to see them home again; and more especially without Roger.

“Roger must be fetched, however,” said Oliver, “and the sooner the better.”

“Oh not yet!” pleaded Mildred. “He is so angry!”

“That is the very thing,” said Oliver. “I want to show him that I tripped him over, not in anger, but because I could not help it. He will never believe but that it was malice, from beginning to end, if I do not go for him directly.”

“But he will thrash you. You know he can. He is ever so much stronger than you; and he is in such a passion, I do not know what he may not do.”

“What can I do?” said Oliver. “I can’t leave him there, standing dripping wet, with the cow and the pony.”

“Would it be of any use if I were to go with you, and say it was all my fault?” asked Mildred, trembling.

“No, no; you must not go.”

“I would go, if there was no water between, and if Mildred would take care of the baby,” said Ailwin.

“Oh do,—do go! You are so strong!” said both the children.

“Why, you see, I can’t abide going on the water, any way, and never could: and most of all without so much as a boat.”

“But I will row you as carefully,” said Oliver, “as safely as in any boat. You see how often we have crossed, and how easy it is. You cannot think what care I will take of you, if you will go.”

“Then there’s the coming back,” objected Ailwin. “If I am on board the same raft with Roger, we shall all go to the bottom, that’s certain!”

“How often have I been to the bottom? And yet I have been on the raft with Roger, ever since it was made.”

“Well, and think how near Mildred was going to the bottom, only just now. I declare I thought we had seen the last of her.”

“Roger had nothing to do with that, you know very well. But I will tell you how we can manage. You can carry your pail over, and,—(never mind its being so early)—you can be milking the cow while I bring Roger over here; and I can come back for you. That will do,—won’t it? Come,—fetch your pail. Depend upon it that is the best plan.”

Mildred remembered, with great fear, that by this plan Roger would be left with her and George while Oliver went to fetch Ailwin home: but she did not say a word, feeling that she who had caused the mischief ought not to object to Oliver’s plan for getting out of the scrape. She need not have feared that Oliver would neglect her feelings. Just before he put off with Ailwin and her milk-pail, he said to his sister—

“I shall try to set Roger down somewhere, so that he cannot plague you and George; but you had better bolt yourself into the room up-stairs when you see us coming; and on no account open the door again till I bid you.”

Mildred promised, and then sat down with George asleep on her lap, to watch the event. She saw Ailwin make some odd gestures as she stood on the raft, balancing herself as if she thought the boards would gape under her feet. Oliver paddled diligently, looking behind him oftener and oftener, as he drew near the landing-place, as if to learn what Roger meant to do when they came within his reach.

The moment the boys were within arm’s length of each other, Roger sprang furiously upon Oliver, and would have thrown him down in an instant, if Oliver had not expected this, and been upon his guard. Oliver managed to jump ashore; and there the boys fought fiercely. There could be no doubt from the beginning which would be beaten,—Roger was so much the taller and stronger of the two, and so much the less peaceable in all his habits than Oliver: but yet Oliver made good fight for some time, before he was knocked down completely. Roger was just about to give his fallen enemy a kick in the stomach, when Ailwin seized him, and said she was not going to see her young master killed before her face, by boy or devil, whichever Roger might be. She tripped him up; and before Oliver had risen, Roger lay sprawling, with Ailwin kneeling upon him to keep him down. Roger shouted out that they were two to one,—cowards, to fight him two to one!

“I am as sorry for that as you can be,” said Oliver, dashing away the blood which streamed from his nose. “I wish I were as old and as tall as you: but I am not. And this is no fighting for play, when it would not signify if I was beaten every day for a week. Here are Mildred and the baby; I have to take care of them till we know what has become of my father and mother: and if you try to prevent me, I will get Ailwin, or anybody or thing I can, to help me, sooner than they shall be hurt. If father and mother ever come back to take care of Mildred, I will fight you every day till I beat you, and let nobody interfere: but till then, I will go to Mildred as often as she calls, if you drown for it, as I showed you this morning.”

Roger answered only by fresh kicks and struggles. Ailwin said aloud that she saw nothing for it but leaving him on this spit of land, to starve on the dunghill. There would be no taking him over to the house in this temper. Roger vowed he would drown all the little pigs, and hough the cow. He had done such a thing before; and he would do it again; so that they should not have a drop more milk for George.

“That will never do,” said Oliver. “Ailwin, do you think we could get him over to the Red-hill? He would have plenty to eat there, and might do as he pleased, and be out of our way and the cow’s. I could carry him his dog.”

Ailwin asked Oliver to bring her the cord from off the raft, and they two could tie up the boy from doing mischief. Oliver brought the cord, but he could not bear to think of using it so.

“Come, now, Roger,” said he, “you picked this quarrel; and you may get out of it in a moment. We don’t want to quarrel at such a time as this. Never mind what has happened. Only say you won’t meddle between me and the others while the flood lasts; and you shall help me to row home, and I will thank you. After all, we can fight it out some other day, if you like.”

More kicks from Roger. No other answer. So Oliver and Ailwin tied his arms and legs with the cord; and then Ailwin proceeded to milk the cow, and Oliver, after washing his face, to give the pony some more hay, and see how the little pigs went on. The animals were all drooping, and especially the cow. Oliver wished to have given the pigs some of her milk, as the poor sow seemed weak and ill; but the cow gave so very little milk this afternoon, that there was none to spare. Her legs trembled as she stood to be milked; and she lay down again, as soon as Ailwin had done.

“The poor thing ain’t long for this world,” said Ailwin. “Depend upon it that boy has bewitched her. I don’t believe she trembles in that way when he is on the other side of the water.”

“You will see that in the morning,” said Oliver. “Shall we take him on the raft now? I don’t like to carry him tied so, for fear he should throw himself about, and roll over into the water. He would certainly be drowned.”

“Leave that to him, Oliver: and take my word for it, that boy was never made to be drowned.”

“You thought the same about Stephen, you know; and he is drowned, I am afraid.”

“Neither you nor I know that. I will believe it when I see it,” said Ailwin with a wise look.

It was now Roger’s mood to lie like one dead. He did not move a muscle when he was lifted, and laid on the raft. Ailwin was so delighted to see the boy she was so afraid of thus humbled, that she could not help giving his face a splash and rub with the muddy water of the stream as he lay.

“Ailwin, for shame!” cried Oliver. “I will fight you next, if you do so. You know you durst not, if his hands were free.”

“To be sure, Oliver, that is the very reason. One must take one’s revenge while one can. However, I won’t notice him any more till you do.”

“Cannot you set down your pail, and help me to row?” asked Oliver. He was quite tired. The raft was heavy now; his nose had not left off bleeding, and his head ached sadly. Three pulls from Ailwin brought them nearer home than all Oliver’s previous efforts. He observed that they must get round the house, if possible, and into the stream which ran through the garden, so as to land Roger on the Red-hill.

There was not much difficulty in getting round, as everything like a fence had long been swept away. As they passed near the entrance-door to the garden, they observed that the waters were still sinking. They stood now only half-way up the door-posts. Oliver declared that when he was a little less tired, he would go through the lower rooms in a tub, and see whether he could pick up anything useful. He feared, however, that almost everything must have been swept off through the windows, in the water-falls that Mildred had thought so pretty, the first day of the flood.

“There is a chest!” exclaimed Oliver, pointing to a little creek in which a stout chest had stuck. “Roger, I do believe it is the very chest that ... that we began our quarrel about. Come, now, is not this a sign that we ought to make it up?”

Roger would not appear to hear: so his companions made short work of it. They pulled in for the shore of the Red-hill, and laid Roger on the slimy bank:—for they saw no occasion to carry one so heavy and so sulky up to the nice bed of grass which was spread at the top of the red precipice that the waters had cut Oliver knew that there was a knife in Roger’s pocket. He took it out, cut the cord which tied his wrists, and threw the knife to a little distance, where Roger could easily reach it in order to free his legs; but not in time to overtake them before they should have put off again.

Roger made one catch at Oliver’s leg, but missing it, lay again as if dead; and Ailwin believed he had not yet stirred when the raft rounded the house again, with the great chest in tow.

Mildred was delighted to see them back, and especially without Roger. She thought Oliver’s face looked very shocking, but Oliver would not say a word about this, or anything else, till he had found Roger’s dog, and gone over in the basket, to set him ashore with his master.

“There!” said he, as he stepped in at the window when this was accomplished, “we have done their business. There they are, in their desert island, as they were before. Now we need not think any more about them, but attend to our own affairs.”

“Your face, Oliver! Pray do—”

“Never mind my face, dear, if it does not frighten poor Geordie. How is poor Geordie?”

“I do not think he is any better. I never saw him so fretful, and so hot and ill. And he cries so dreadfully!”

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