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. You must leave 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 wont 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,—wont 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 wont 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 hot 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 wont 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!"



CHAPTER EIGHT.

NEW QUARTERS.

Ailwin presently made George's supper, with milk, a little thickened with meal. They were all about the child, watching how he would take it, when a loud crack was heard.

"What is that?" cried Oliver.

"It is a crack," said Ailwin, "in the wall or somewhere. I heard just such a one while Mildred was gone out to play, after dinner."

"And there was another while you were away," said Mildred. "Some plaster fell that time:—look here! In this corner.—What is the matter, Oliver? What makes you look so frightened? What does it mean?"

"It means, I am afraid, that more of the house is coming down. Look at this great zigzag crack in the wall!—and how loose the plaster hangs in that part of the ceiling! I really think,—I am quite sure, we ought not to stay here any longer."

"But where can we go? What shall we do?"

"We must think about that, and lose no time. I think this room will fall very soon."

Mildred could not help crying, and saying that they could not settle themselves, and rest at all. She never saw anything like it. They were all so tired they did not know what to do; and now they should have to work as hard as ever. She never saw anything like it.

"No, dear, never," said her brother: "and thousands of people, far older than you, never saw anything like this flood. But you know, Mildred, we must not die, if we can help it."

This reminded Mildred who it was that set them these heavy tasks,—that bade them thus labour to preserve the lives He gave. She was silent Oliver went on—

"If ever we meet father and mother again, we shall not mind our having been ever so much tired now. We shall like telling them all our plans and doings, if it should please God that we should ever sit with them by the fire-side."

"Or whenever we meet them in heaven, if they should not be alive now," said Mildred.

"Yes, dear; but we will talk over all that when we get to the Red-hill:—we must not talk any more now, but set to work. However, I really think, Mildred, that father and mother are still alive somewhere. I feel as if they were."

"But the Red-hill," said Mildred, "what do you mean about the Red-hill? We are not going there, where Roger is,—are we?"

"We must, dear. There is no other place. Roger is very unkind: but floods and falling houses are unkinder still. Come, Ailwin, help me with the raft. We must carry away what we can before dark. There will be no house standing to-morrow morning, I am afraid."

"Sleep on the ground!" exclaimed Ailwin. "Without a roof to cover us! My poor grandfather little thought I should ever come to that."

"If you will move the beds, you need not sleep on the bare ground," said Oliver. "Now, Ailwin, don't you begin to cry. Pray don't. You are a grown-up woman, and Mildred and I are only children. You ought to take care of us, instead of beginning to cry."

"That is pretty true," said Ailwin: "but I little thought ever to sleep without a roof over my head."

"Come, come, there are the trees," said Oliver. "They are something of a roof, while the leaves are on."

"And there is all that cloth," said Mildred; "that immensely long piece of cloth. Would not that make a tent, somehow?"

"Capital!" cried Oliver. "How well we shall be off with a cloth tent! It seems as if that cloth was sent on purpose. It is so spoiled already, that we can hardly do it any harm. And I am sure the person that wove it would be very glad that it should cover our heads to-night. I shall carry it and you across before anything else—this very minute. I will run down and bring the raft round to the door below. The water is low enough now for you to get out that way.—Oh dear! I wish I was not so tired! I can hardly move. But I must forget all that; for it will not do to stay here."

While he was gone, Mildred asked Ailwin whether she was very tired.

"Pretty much; but not so bad as he," replied Ailwin.

"Then do not you think you and I could fetch off a good many things, while he watches Geordie on the grass? If you thought you could row the raft, I am sure I could carry a great many things down-stairs, and land them on the hill."

Ailwin had no doubt she could row, in such a narrow and gentle stream as now ran through the garden.

She made the trial first when Oliver was on board, and several other times with Mildred, succeeding always very well. Oliver was extremely glad of this; for the bridge-basket had been used so much, and sometimes for such heavy weights, that it was wearing out, and might break down at any moment. The bridge-rope, too, being the stoutest cord they had, was very useful for tying the raft to the trunk of the beech, so that it could not be carried away. When once this rope was well fastened, Oliver was content to rest himself on the grass beside Geordie, and let the strong Ailwin and little Mildred work as they wished. It surprised him, well as he knew Ailwin, to see the loads she could carry, bringing a good-sized mattress up the bank as easily as he could have carried a pillow. She wrung the wet out of the long piece of home-spun, and spread it out in the sun, to dry as much as it could before dark, and seemed to think no more of it than Mildred did of washing her doll's petticoat.

Mildred took charge of the lighter articles that required care—her mother's china, for one thing; for it was found that nothing made of earthenware remained unbroken in the lower rooms. There were some pewter plates, which were now lodged under the beech, together with pots and pans, knives and forks, and horn spoons. There was no table light enough to be moved, but a small one of deal, which Ailwin dragged out from under water, with all its legs broken: but enough of it remained entire to make it preferable to the bare ground for preparing their food on, when once it should be dry. There was a stool a-piece—not forgetting one for Roger; and Mildred took care that Geordie should have his own little chair. Not even Ailwin could carry a chest of drawers: but she carried down the separate drawers, with the clothes of the family in them. No one of the household had ever seen a carpet; but there was matting on some of the floors. Ailwin pulled up pieces of this, to be some protection against the damp and insects of the ground.

"It is as wet as water now," said she; "but we must not quarrel with anything to-day on that account; and matting will dry on the hill better than at home. If it turns out rotten, we must try and spare a piece of the cloth from overhead, to lay underfoot: but George will feel it more like home, if he has a bit of matting to trip his little foot against."

So down-stairs went a great bundle of wet matting.

"Will not that do for to-night?" asked Oliver, languidly, as he saw Ailwin preparing to put off again, when the sun was just touching the western hills. "You know we have to put up the tent, and get something to eat before we can go to sleep; and it has been such a long, long day!"

"As you please," said Ailwin; "but you said the house would be down in the night; and there are many things yet that we should be sorry to have to do without."

"Never mind them:—let them go, I am sure we all want to be asleep more than anything else."

"Sleep, indeed! Do you suppose I shall sleep with that boy hid among the trees? Not I, you may rely upon it. Those may that can: and I will watch."

No one had yet mentioned Roger, though all felt that his presence was a terrible drawback to the comfort of their establishment on the hill, which might otherwise be, in fine weather, a tolerably pleasant one. It made Oliver indignant to think that a stout lad, whom they had wished to make welcome to all they had, in their common adversity, should be skulking in the wood as an enemy, instead of helping them in their labours, under circumstances in which all should be friends. This thought made Oliver so angry that he did not choose to speak of Roger. When Ailwin offered to seek him out, and do her best to tie his limbs again, and carry him away to any place the children chose, Oliver begged her to say no more about it; and observed that they had better forget Roger altogether, if they could, unless he should come to make peace.

There was one, however, who could not for a moment forget who was the cause of the late quarrel. Mildred was very unhappy at the thought of the mischief she had done by her shriek. Not all her hard toil of this evening could console her. When the cloth had been spread over the lower branches of a great ash, so as to shelter the party, in a careless way, for this one night (when there was no time to make a proper tent), and while Ailwin was heating something for supper, and Oliver dozing with George on one of the beds, Mildred stole away, to consider whether there was anything that she could do to cure Roger's anger. It did her good, at least, to sit down and think about it. She sat down under a tree, above where the bee-shed had stood. The moon had just risen, and was very bright, being near the full. The clouds seemed to have come down out of the sky, to rest upon the earth; for white vapours, looking as soft as wreaths of snow, were hovering over the wide waste of waters. Some of these were gently floating or curling, while others brooded still, like large white birds over their hidden nests. It seemed to Mildred's eye, however, as if a clear path had been cut through these mists, from the Red-hill to the moon on the horizon, and as if this path had been strewed with quivering moonbeams. She forgot, while gazing, that she was looking out upon the carr,—upon muddy waters which covered the ruins of many houses, and in which were hidden the bodies of drowned animals, and perhaps of some people. She looked upon the train of trembling light, and felt not only how beautiful it was, but that He whose hand kindled that mild heavenly lamp, and poured out its rays before his children's eyes, would never forget and forsake them. While everything was made so beautiful as to seem ordered for the pleasure of men, their lives and common comforts could not be overlooked. So plain did this now appear to Mildred, that she felt less and less anxious and fearful; and, after a time, as if she was afraid of nothing at all, and could never be afraid again.

She determined to go and seek Roger,—not with any wish like Ailwin's, that he could be bound by force, and carried away, to be alone and miserable,—but with a much happier hope and purpose. She did not think he would hurt her; but, if he did, she had rather that he should strike her than that Oliver and he should fight, day after day, as Ailwin had whispered to her they meant to do. She did not believe he could come to blows with Oliver again, after she had taken all the blame upon herself. So she set forth to do so.

She went on quickly enough while she was upon the slope, in the full moonlight, and with the blaze of Ailwin's fire not far off on her right hand. But she felt the difference when she entered the shade of the trees. It was rather chilly there, and very silent. There was only a rustle in the grass and brambles about her feet, as if she disturbed some small animals hidden there. When she thought she was far enough away from her party not to be heard by them, she began to call softly, hoping that Roger might presently answer, so that she should not have to go much further into the darkness. But she heard nothing but her own voice, as she called, "Roger! Where are you, Roger? I want to speak to you."

Further and further on she went; and still there was no reply. Though she knew every inch of her way, she tripped several times over the roots of the trees; and once she fell. She saw the stars in the spaces of the wood, as she looked up, and knew that she should soon come out upon the grass again. But when she did so, she found it almost as dark as in the wood, though the moon shone on the waters afar. She still went on calling Roger—now a little louder, till she stumbled over something which was not the root of a tree, for it was warm, and it growled.

"Bishop!" she exclaimed, in alarm; for next to Roger, she had always been afraid of Roger's dog.

"Why don't you call him Spy?" said Roger's voice, from the ground just before her. "What business have you to call him by his wrong name?—how is he ever to learn his name if people come calling him by the wrong one? Get away—will you? I know what I'll do if you come here, spoiling my dog."

"I will go back directly when I have said one thing. It was all my fault that you and Oliver quarrelled this morning. I was frightened, and screamed when I ought not; and it is my fault that you are not now by our fire, getting your supper with us, in our tent I am sure, I wish you were there."

"Very fine," said Roger. "He knows I thrashed him; and he does not want any more of it. But I'll thrash him as long as I live; I tell you that."

"Oliver does not know about my coming—he is asleep in the tent," protested Mildred. "Nobody knows of my coming. I don't believe Oliver would have let me come, if he had known it. Only go and look yourself; and you will see how he lies asleep on the grass. We know you can beat him in fighting, because you are so much bigger; and that is why I cannot bear that he should fight. It was all about me this time; and I know he will never give up; and I don't know how long it will be before he is big enough to thrash you."

"Long enough, I can tell you: so get away, and let me go to sleep; or I'll thrash you too."

"How can you talk so, Roger, and keep your anger so, when we are all so unhappy? I did not wonder much before, when Ailwin had to help Oliver... That was enough to make you or anybody be angry. But now, when I come to tell you how sorry I am, and that I know, if I ask Oliver, that he will be glad to forget everything, and that you should come to supper with us, instead of lying here in the dark, with nothing to eat, I do think you ought to forgive and forget; to forgive me, and forget all about thrashing Oliver."

Roger made no answer.

"Good-bye, Roger," said Mildred. "I am sorry that you choose to lie here, hungry and cold, instead of..."

"What business have you in my island?" interrupted Roger, fiercely. "How dared you settle upon my ground, to mock me with your fire and your supper? I'll have my fire and my supper too."

"I hope you will, if you will not come to ours. We were obliged to settle here—the house is all cracking, and falling to pieces. We were very sorry to come,—we were all so tired;—but we dared not stay in the house."

Roger uttered an exclamation which showed that a new light had broken upon him, as to the causes of their removal.

"Poor Geordie is so ill, we were most sorry to have to move him. The time will come, Roger, though you don't think so now, when you will be vexed that while we cannot tell whether father and mother are alive or dead, and whether George will live or die, you put the pain of quarrels upon us too."

"Well, get you gone now!" said Roger, not immediately discovering that she was some paces on her way home again before he said that much.

Mildred heard Ailwin calling her to supper, as she drew near the tent. She did not say where she had been; but perhaps she was more on the watch, in consequence of what had passed. She soon saw that Roger was sauntering under the trees; and indeed what she had said, and what he now saw together, had altered Roger's mind. He was hungry, and once more tired of being alone and sulky. He was thinking how comfortable the fire and the steaming kettle looked, and considering how he should make his approach, when Mildred jumped up, and came running to him.

"They don't know that I came to find you," said she. "Oliver will think it so kind of you to come and be friends! He will be so pleased! And there is plenty of supper for everybody."

She ventured to put her hand in his, and lead him forwards into the light. She told Oliver that Roger was willing to forgive and forget; and Oliver said that he was quite willing too. Oliver set a stool for Roger, and offered him his own basin of broth. Ailwin held her tongue;—which was the most that could be expected of her.

Roger did not quite know what to say and do, when he had finished his supper, and fed Spy. He swung his legs, as he sat upon his stool, stared into the fire, and began to whistle. Roger's shrillest whistle, as it had been sometimes heard in the carr, was anything but agreeable: but his low whistle, when he was not thinking about it, was soft and sweet. A gentle chuckle was soon heard from George, as he lay across Mildred's knees.

"He likes it! He likes such a whistle as that!" exclaimed Mildred. Her eyes said to Roger, "Do go on!"

Roger went on whistling, better and better,—more and more softly, he drawing nearer, till he quite bent over the poor sick child, who, after many signs of pleasure, dropped off into a sleep,—a quiet, sound sleep.

"Thank you!" said Oliver, heartily. "Thank you, Roger!"

"You will do it again to-morrow, will not you, if he should be fretful?" said Mildred.

Roger nodded. Then he made the cloth drapery hang better over the pillows on which the child was laid,—so as to keep off the dew completely, he said. Then he nodded again, when Oliver gave him a blanket: and once more he nodded good night, before he rolled himself up in it under a neighbouring tree.



CHAPTER NINE.

ONE PRISONER RELEASED.

In the morning, it appeared that it had been right to remove to the Red-hill the night before. Only some fragments of the roof of the house remained. Some beams and a quantity of rubbish had fallen into the room where the party had lived since the flood came; and a heap of this rubbish lay on the very spot where Mildred would have been sleeping if they had stayed. All saw and considered this with awe. Roger himself looked first at the little girl, and then at that part of the ruin, as if imagining what it would have been for her to be lying there, and wondering to see her standing here, alive and unhurt.

"Look how that wall stands out;" said Oliver. "The faster the house falls, the more haste we must make to save what we can."

"Oh! Cannot you stay quietly to-day?" asked Mildred. "I think we have got all we really want; and this bustle and hurry and hard work every day are so tiresome! Cannot we keep still and rest to-day?"

"To-morrow, dear," replied her brother. "To-morrow is Sunday! And we will try to rest. But there is no knowing how long we may have to live in this place, in the middle of the waters; and it is my duty to save everything I can that can make George and you and the rest of us comfortable when the colder weather comes on."

"I wonder what all the world is about, that nobody comes to see after us," said Mildred, sighing.

"Out of sight, out of mind, Mildred," said Ailwin. "That is the way, all the world over."

"I am sure it is not," said Oliver. "Mildred and I say as little as we can about father and mother, but don't you imagine such a thing as that they are out of our minds. I know Mildred never shuts her eyes, but she sees the mill floating away, as it did that evening, and father standing..."

He could not go on about that. Presently he said, "When the flood came, I suppose, there were no boats to be had. It would take the first day to bring them from a distance, and get them afloat. Then the people would look round (as they ought to do) to see where they could do most good. Nobody who looked through a glass this way, since the day before yesterday, and saw those rafters sticking up in the air,—the house in ruins as it is,—would suppose that any one could be left alive here. From a distance, they can hardly fancy that even any little mouse could help being either drowned or starved. This will be about the last spot in the Levels that any boat will come to.—You see, Mildred, our Red-hill, though it is everything to us, is but a speck compared with the grounds that have stood above water since the waters began to sink. We had better not think of anything but living on as we can, unless it should please God that we should die."

Roger did not want to hear anything more of this kind; so he went to where George was lying, and began to whistle softly to him. The child was so altered that his own mother would hardly have known him: but he smiled when he heard the whistle; and the smile was his own. He put up his hand and patted Roger's face, and even pulled his hair with a good stout pull. Roger had been used to nurse his dog, though not little children. He now took George into his arms, and laid him comfortably across his knees, while he whistled till the little fellow looked full in his face, and puckered up his poor white lips, as if he would whistle too. This made Roger laugh aloud; and then George laughed. Ailwin heard them, and peeped into the corner of the tent where they were. She flew to Oliver, to tell him that Roger was at his tricks worse than ever,—he was bewitching the baby. She was angry at Oliver for telling his sister, when he had looked in too, that they might have been very glad any of them, to bewitch poor baby in this manner, when he was crying so sadly all yesterday. Mildred, for her part, ran to thank Roger, and say how glad she should be to be able to whistle as he could.

"How should you?" said Roger,—"you who never had a dog, or caught any sort of a bird in your life, I dare say."

"No, I never could. One day, long ago, when mother was very busy, and I was tired of playing, she gave me some salt into my hand, and told me I might put it upon the birds' tails in the garden, and so catch them: but I did not get one. At last, half the salt was spilt, and the other half was melted in my hand; and then dinner was ready. I suppose that was a joke of mother's."

"She wanted you out of the way; and what a fool you must have been not to find that out! Why, the birds could not have been sillier, if they had let you put the salt upon their tails."

"It was a long while ago," pleaded Mildred. "Here, take him," said Roger, popping George into her arms. "Show him how to catch birds if you like. I can't spend my time any longer here."

"How he cries after you!" exclaimed Mildred. It was the first time Roger had ever known anybody to be sorry for his going away. The child was certainly crying after him. He half turned back, but turned again, saying—

"Can't you tell him I will come again by-and-by? I must be off now."

The truth was, Roger had never forgotten the chest—the oaken chest which looked so tempting when he saw it floating down, and Oliver would not stop to catch it,—the stout chest which he knew to be now safe and sound somewhere about the house, unless harm had happened to it during the night. Oliver agreed that it was of importance to bring this chest on shore: and the boys lost no time in doing it. Mildred came out with George to watch their proceedings, and found that Oliver had already made one trip, and brought over some articles of use and value. He came up to his sister, with something which he held carefully covered up in both hands. He said gravely—

"Here, dear, put this in some safe place,—where no one will know of it but you and me."

"A watch!—mother's watch!"

"I found it, with several things in her cupboard, thrown down by the wall breaking."

"It does not seem to be hurt," observed Mildred. "And how often you have wished for a watch!"

"I think I shall never wish for anything again," said Oliver. Mildred saw his face as he turned away, and began to consider where she could put the watch, so that it might be safe, and that Roger might not see it, nor Oliver be reminded of it.

Ailwin and Roger were meantime disputing about which should have the raft first,—Roger wanting to secure the chest, and Ailwin insisting that it was high time the cow was milked. Oliver said he was master here in his father's absence, and he would have no quarrels. All three should go on the raft. Roger should be landed at the staircase, where he could be collecting what he wanted to bring over, while Oliver proceeded to set Ailwin ashore beside the cow. By working to the number of three, in harmony, far more would be gained than by using up strength in fighting and disputing. He did not care how many times he crossed the water this day, if those whom he rowed would but keep the peace. He would willingly be their servant in rowing, though he chose to be their master in deciding.

Ailwin stared at Oliver. It had struck her, and Mildred too, that Oliver seemed to have grown many years older since the flood came. He was no taller, and no stronger;—indeed he seemed to-day to be growing weaker with fatigue; but he was not the timid boy he had always appeared before. He spoke like a man; and there was the spirit of a man in his eyes. It was not a singular instance. There have been other cases in which a timid boy has been made a man of, on a sudden, by having to protect, from danger or in sorrow, some weaker than himself. Roger felt something of the truth; and this had as much to do with making him quiet and tractable to-day as his interest about George, or his liking to live in a tent with companions, rather than in the open air and alone.

Ailwin was but a short time gone. She came up the bank to Mildred, swinging her empty milk-pail, and sobbing, as if from the bottom of her heart. Mildred did not think she had ever seen Ailwin cry so before; and she could imagine nothing now but that Oliver was lost. She turned so giddy in a moment that she could not see Ailwin, and so sick that she could not speak to her.

"So you have heard, Mildred,—you have heard, I see by your being so white. Oliver says she has been dead ever so many hours. I say, if we had gone the first thing, instead of staring and poking about yon tumble-down house, we might have saved her. I shall never milk her again,—not a drop!—nor any other either, so far as I see; for there is no saying that we shall ever get away. Here I have not a drop of milk to give you, my dear, though you are as white as the wall."

"Never mind," gasped Mildred, "if it is only the cow. I thought it had been Oliver."

"Oliver! Bless your heart! There he is as busy about the house and things, as if nothing had happened; and just as provoking as you for caring nothing about the poor cow. There she lies, poor soul! Dead and cold, half in the water, and half out. She was worth you two put together, for some things,—I can tell you that."

"Indeed I am very sorry," said Mildred; and as she saw George pulling about the empty can, she melted into tears, which would come faster and faster till Oliver again stood by her side. She tried to tell him what she had been afraid of, and how she thought she should not have cried but for that;—or, at least, not so much; but she really could not explain what she felt, her sobs came so thick.

"I do not know exactly what you mean, dear," said Oliver; "but I understand that you must be crying about the cow. I am very sorry,— very. I had rather have lost anything we have left than the cow, now George is so ill."—Here he bit his lip, and looked away from George, lest he should cry like his sister. He went on, however, talking rather quickly at first, but becoming more composed as he proceeded. He said, "I have been thinking that it will never do for us who may be near losing everything we have, and our lives, after all, to grieve over each separate loss as it happens. When you said your prayers the first night of the flood..."

"How long ago that does seem!" exclaimed Mildred.

"It does, indeed!" replied Oliver, glad to hear her say something distinctly. "When we said our prayers that night, and whenever we have said them since, we begged that we might be able to bear dying in this flood,—to bear whatever it pleased God to do. Now, our right way is to make up our minds at once to everything, and just in the way it pleases God. Let us try to bear it cheerfully, whether we lose the cow or anything else first; or whether we all die together. That is the way, Mildred!—And if you and I should not die together, that must be the way too."

"I hope we shall though."

"I think it is very likely; and that before long. And then how useless it will have been to be unhappy about anything we can lose here! People who may be so near to death need not be anxious about this and that, like those who seem to have long to live. So come, dear, and see this chest; and help us to settle what should be done with it."

There was nothing about the outside of the chest to show whose it might be. Everybody agreed that it ought to be opened immediately, lest all that it contained should be spoiled by the wet. But how to open it was the question; for it had a very stout lock, and strong hinges. After many attempts, it was found that nothing short of proper tools would answer the purpose: and Oliver went to see if his could be reached. Through piles of rubbish, and a puddle of slimy water, he got to the spot where he had left them,—hidden behind straw, that the Redfurns might not discover and spoil them. The straw was washed away, and his beautiful lump of alabaster reduced to slime; but his tools were there,—in no very bright condition, but safe. He hastened away from the spot; for thoughts crowded upon his mind of the day when he had last used these tools, and the way of life in which he and Mildred had been so happy, and which seemed now to be over for ever. He thought of the beautiful stone carvings over the doorway, and of what Pastor Dendel had said to him about them. They had fallen; and who knew what had become of kind Pastor Dendel? The garden, with all its fresh green and gay blossoms, was now a muddy stream; rank smells and thick mists now came up from what had been meadows and corn-fields; and his father, whose manly voice had been daily heard singing from the mill, where was he? It would not do to stay thinking of these things; so Oliver hastened back with his tools, and with the heavy kitchen hammer, which he also found.

None of these would open the chest. The party managed it at last by heating a large nail, which they drew out from a shattered door-post, and burning holes in the wood of the chest, close by the nails which fastened the hinges, so as to loosen them, and make them drop out. The lid being raised, a great variety of articles was found within, so nicely packed that the wet had penetrated but a very little way. Mildred had looked on thoughtfully; and she saw that Oliver paused when the contents lay open to view. She looked in her brother's face, and said—

"I wonder who this chest belonged to?"

"I was just thinking so," observed Oliver.

"Never mind that," said Ailwin. "We may know, some day or other, or we may not. Meantime, it is ours. Come, make haste, and see what there is to wrap up poor baby in, on cold nights."

"We will look for something of that sort,—I am sure we might use such a thing as that," said Oliver: "but..."

"But," said Mildred, "I don't think these other things are ours, any more than they ever were. Nobody ever gave them to us. They have belonged to somebody else;—to somebody that may be wondering at this moment where they are."

"Nonsense, Mildred!" exclaimed Ailwin. "Who gave you the harness that braces the raft, or the meal you have been living on these two days, I wonder: and how do you know but somebody is hungry, and longing for it, at this minute?"

"I wish they had it, then," replied Mildred. "But, Oliver, were we wrong to use the meal? I never thought of that."

"Nor I: but I think we were right enough there. The meal would all have been spoiled presently; and meal (and the harness too) is a sort of thing that we can pay for, or make up for in some way, if ever we can meet with the people who lost that chest."

"And George, and all of us, might have starved without it."

"Yes: we must take what we want to eat, when it comes in our way, and there is nobody to ask leave of: and, if ever we get out of this place, we can inquire who lost a meal-chest or set of harness, and offer to pay for what we took. But I do think it is different with these things."

"So do I," said Mildred. "Those table-cloths, and that embroidered cap,—somebody has taken pains to make them, and might not like to sell them. And look! Look at Roger! He has pulled out a great heavy bag of money."

"Now, Roger, put that bag where you found it," said Oliver. "It is none of yours."

"How do I know that I shall find it again, the next time I look?" replied Roger, walking off with the bag.

Mildred was afraid of Oliver's following him, and of another quarrel happening. She put her arm within her brother's, and he could easily guess why.

"Don't be afraid, dear," he said. "If Roger chooses to do a dishonest thing, it is his own affair. We have warned him; and that is all we have to do with it. We must be honest ourselves,—that is all."

"Then I think we had better not look any further into the chest," said Mildred; "only just to find something warm to wrap Geordie in. The clothes look so nice—we might fancy we wanted things that we can very well do without."

"I am not much afraid of that," replied her brother: "and it would be a pity the things should spoil with the damp. They would be dry in an hour in this warm sun; and we could pack them away again before night."

"Roger will never let you do that," declared Ailwin. "Not a rag will he leave to anybody that you don't stow away while he is out of sight. Never did I see such perverse children as you, and so thankless for God's gifts. I should be ashamed to be no more grateful than you for what He puts into your very hands."

Mildred looked at her brother now with a different face. She was perplexed and alarmed; but she saw that Oliver was not.

"Roger cannot carry off anything," he replied. "He may bury and hide what he pleases; but they will all be somewhere about the Red-hill; and we can tell anybody who comes to fetch us off whatever we know about the goods."

"Nobody will ever come and fetch us off," said Ailwin, beginning to cry. "The people at a distance don't care a straw what becomes of us; and you children here at hand are so perverse and troublesome, I don't know how to bear my life between you."

"If nobody comes to save us," said Oliver, calmly, "I do not see what good this money and these fine clothes will do to Roger and you."

"Roger and me! Pray what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you and he are for taking these things that do not belong to us; and Mildred and I are against it. Only tell me this one thing, Ailwin. Do you believe that your cloak and stockings were sent in Nan Redfurn's way, that she might take them? And do you think it would have been perverse in her not to run away with them?"

"Now, Oliver, what nonsense you talk! As if I wanted a rag of these things for my own wear! As if I would touch a penny that was not honestly got!"

"So I always thought before; and so I shall think now, if you will help Mildred to dry whatever is damp, and then pack all away safely—all but such things as may do poor Geordie good."

Roger was not long in finding a hole in a tree where he could hide his bag of money. He cut a small cross in the bark by which he might know the tree again, and hastened back, to see what else he could secure. He found plenty of pretty things hanging on the bushes, and did not wait for their being quite dry to dress himself as he had never been dressed before. With the embroidered cap above mentioned on his head, a scarlet waistcoat, worked with silver thread, hanging loose about his body, and a light blue coat, whose skirts reached his heels, he looked so little like the dirty ragged Roger, that Geordie shrank back from him, at first sight, and did not smile till he heard the soft whistle again. After that, he seemed more pleased with the finery than all the rest of the party together. Ailwin glanced scornfully upon it, as if she had disapproved from the beginning its being touched; and Oliver and Mildred looked grave.

So very much pleased was Geordie with the gay waistcoat, that Roger took him into his arms, that he might be able to stroke it, and play with the silver flowers. It was little fatigue, now, except to the spirits, to nurse poor George. He was shrunk to skin and bone, and so light as to startle those who had been accustomed to lift him. It was grievous, however, to look at the ghastly stretched features, the flabby tremulous little arms, and the suffering expression of countenance. To hear his feeble cry was worse still. Oliver was really glad to take Mildred away from seeing and hearing him, as long as the child would be quiet with Roger: so he asked her to filter more water through the gravel. He begged her to get ready a great deal—enough for them all to drink, and to bathe George in; for the water about them was becoming of a worse quality every day. It was unsafe even to live near; and much more to drink. So he scraped up a quantity of clean dry gravel from the ledges of the precipice where the first flood had thrown it, and helped Mildred to press this gravel down in the worn old basket. This basket they set across the tub, which they first thoroughly cleaned. Mildred poured water upon the gravel by degrees; and it was astonishing how much purer and better it came out of the tub than it went into the basket. When the tub was full, Ailwin heated some of the water presently over her large fire, and made a warm bath for the child.

Roger was unwilling to give him up when the bath was ready, so new and so pleasant did he find it to be liked and loved by anybody—to have power over any one, so much more easy and delightful to exercise than that of force. But, not only was the bath ready, and must not be left to cool, but Oliver beckoned him away on some very particular business.

This business was indeed pressing. All the party had complained that the bad smells about the Red-hill became really oppressive. They did not know how great was the danger of their all falling ill of fever, in consequence; but every one of them felt languid and uncomfortable. Oliver made the circuit of the hill, to discover whether there was any cause for this evil that could be removed. He was surprised to find the number of dead animals that were lying about in holes and corners, as well as the heap of Roger's game, now actually putrefying in the sun. There was also a dead horse thrown up, on the side where the quarry was; and about this horse were such swarms of flies as Oliver had never seen. It was to consult about pushing back this horse into the stream, and clearing away all other dead things that they could find, that Oliver now called Roger.

Roger was struck with what he observed. He saw no difficulty in clearing away the game he ought never to have left lying in a heap in the sun. He believed, too, that with stout poles he and Oliver could shove the horse into the water; and, with a line tied to its head, tow it out of the still water into the current which yet ran from the quarry. But what troubled him more was, that there was evidently a mortality among the animals on the hill. They were dying in all directions; some for want of proper food, and from being put out of their usual habits: others from being preyed upon by their stronger neighbours. Nothing seemed to thrive but the ravenous birds which came in clusters, winging their way over the waters, and making a great rustling of their pinions as they descended to perch upon some dead animal, pulling it to pieces before the very eyes of the boys, as they stood consulting what to do. It was a horrid sight: and it brought the horrid thought that soon probably there would be no game left for food for the party; and that what there was meantime might be unwholesome. Oliver had never imagined that the old boy, Roger Redfurn, could look so alarmed as he did at this moment.

"Never mind, now, Roger," said he, "what is likely to become of you and me. Wait, and find that out by-and-by. What I am afraid of is seeing Mildred look at all as George does now. Come, let us set to work! Don't stand looking up in the sky, in that way. Help me—do. Cannot Spy help? Call him; will you?"

"We can't get away!" exclaimed Roger, as if now, for the first time, awakened to his situation. "Those vile birds—they can go where they like—nasty creatures—and we cannot stir from where we are!"

"I wish we had our singing birds back again, instead of these creatures," said Oliver. "Our shy, pretty, innocent little birds, that used to be so pleased to pick up twigs and straws to build their nests with, and be satisfied with the worms and slugs and flies that they cleared away from the garden. I wish we had them, instead of these ugly, saucy, dirty birds. But our birds are happier somewhere else, I dare say; in some dry, pleasant place among those hills, all sweet with flowers, and cool with clear running water."

"They can get there, and we can't. We can't get out of this hot steaming place: and those hills look further off every day. I wish my uncle had been dead before he brought us down off the moors last time. I wish he had, I know. If I was on the moor now, after the plovers..."

"Come, come; forget all that now, and set to work," interrupted Oliver. "If you wont call Spy to help, I will see whether he will mind me."

Spy came, with some hesitation, in answer to a whistle which was like his master's, but not exactly the same. His master soon set him to work, and began to work himself, in a sort of desperation. It was astonishing what a clearance was made in a short time. But it did not do all the good that was expected. There was so much vegetable decay in the region round, that the floating dead animals off to a distance caused only a partial relief.

While the boys were hard at work at their disagreeable task, Mildred was enjoying seeing George in his warm bath. Ailwin held him there, while Mildred continued her useful business of filtering water, talking to the child all the while. The poor little fellow soon left off crying, and moved his weak limbs about in the tepid water, trying to splash Ailwin, as he had been wont to splash his mother in play, every morning when she washed and dressed him.

"I am sure it does him a great deal of good," exclaimed Mildred. "I will filter quantities of water; and he shall have a bath as often as ever it is good for him. Suppose it should make him well!"

Ailwin shook her head. She saw how impossible it would be even to keep a healthy child well in the absence of proper food, in an unwholesome atmosphere, and without sufficient shelter from the changes of weather which might come at any hour, and must come soon. How unlikely it was that a sick baby should recover under such circumstances, she was well aware. Yet she little thought how near the end was.

After his bath, Geordie lay, nicely covered up, on a mattress under the tent. One or other of his nurses visited, him every few minutes; and both were satisfied that he was comfortably asleep. The boys came for some dinner, at last; and while Oliver went to wash his hands in clean water, Roger stooped over the child to kiss him. Before doing so, however, he started back, and asked Ailwin why the baby's eyes looked so strangely. They were half closed, and seemed like neither sleep nor waking. Ailwin sat down on the mattress, and took him into her arms, while Mildred ran to call Oliver. The poor child stretched himself stiff across Ailwin's knees, and then breathed no more.

When Oliver and Mildred came running back, Ailwin was putting her cheek near the child's mouth, to feel if there was indeed no breath. She shook her head, and her eyes ran over with tears. Oliver kneeled down, and put his hand to the heart—it did not beat. He lifted the wasted arm—it fell, as if it had never had life in it. There lay the little body, still unmoved, with the face composed,—the eyes dim and half closed, the ear hearing nothing, the tongue silent, while all were calling on little George to say something he had been fond of saying, to hearken to something he had loved to hear, and—all in vain.

"Whistle to him, Roger!" exclaimed Mildred, through her trembling. "Try if he cannot hear that. Whistle to him softly."

Roger tried; but no notice was taken of the forced, irregular whistle which was the best he could give at the moment.

"Listen, dear! Hark, George! Only hear!" exclaimed Mildred and Ailwin.

"O hush! All of you!" exclaimed Oliver. "Be quiet, Mildred dear! Our little brother is dead."

Roger threw himself on the grass, and hid his face on his arms. He moaned and rocked himself about, so that, even in the first moments of their grief, the brother and sister looked at each other with awe.

"Come away with me, dear," whispered Oliver to his sister. "Ailwin, give George to me. Let me have him in my arms."

"Bless you, my dears; it is not George any longer. It is a poor little dead body. You must not call it George."

"Give him to me," said Oliver. He took the body from Ailwin's arms, carrying it as gently as if anything could have hurt it now; and he and Mildred walked away towards the spot where the bee-shed had stood. Ailwin gazed after them, dashing away the tears with the back of her hand, when they gathered so that she could not see.

Oliver and Mildred walked on till they could descend the bank a little, and sit, just above the waters, where they knew they were out of sight of everybody. This bank presented a strange appearance, such as the children had been wondering at for some days, till Ailwin remembered that she had often heard say that there was once a thick forest growing where the Levels were now spread, and that the old trees were, every one, somehow underground. It now appeared that this was true. As the earth was washed away in the channel, and cut down along the bank, large trunks of trees were seen lying along, black as coal. Some others started out of the bank; and the roots of a few spread like network, holding the soil together, and keeping the bank firm in that part. Upon one of the trunks, that jutted out, Oliver took his seat; and Mildred placed herself beside him.

"Let him lie on my knee now," said she.

"Presently," said Oliver. "How easy and quiet he looks!"

"And how quietly he died!" observed Mildred. "I did not think it had been such an easy thing to die,—or half so easy for us to bear to see."

"The hard part is to come, dear. We are glad now to see him out of his pain—so comfortable as he looks at this moment. The hard part will be not to hear his little voice any more—never ... But we must not think of that now. I hope, Mildred, that you are not sorry that George is dead. I am not, when I think that he may be with father and mother already."

"Already?"

"Yes—if they are dead. Perhaps they have been pitying poor baby all the time he has been ill, crying and moaning so sadly; and now he may be with them, quite happy, and full of joy to meet them again."

"Then they may be seeing us now."

"Yes; they will not forget us, even the first moment that George's little spirit is with them. Do not let them see us sad, Mildred. Let them see that we are glad that they should have George, when we could do nothing for him."

"But we shall miss him so when ... Oliver! He must be buried!"

"Yes. When that is done, we shall miss him sadly. We must expect that. But we must bear it."

"If we die here," said Mildred, "it will be easy to do without, him for such a little while. But if we ever get away, if we grow up to be as old as father and mother, what shall we do, all those years, without once hearing Geordie laugh, or having him to wake us in the morning? What long things people's lives are! It will seem as if ours would never be done, if we have to wait all that time to see Geordie again."

"I wish we were dead!" sighed Oliver. "I am sure, so do I. And dying is so very easy!"

"The pastor always said there was nothing to be afraid of," said Oliver—"I mean, for innocent people. And Geordie was so innocent, he was fit to go directly to God."

"If we die here," said Mildred, "Roger must too. What was the matter with him just now, do you think? Was he thinking about that?"

"He was very miserable about something. Oh, Mildred, do look! Did you ever see Geordie look sweeter? Yes, you may have him now."

And Oliver quietly laid the child in Mildred's arms. "Yet," said he, sighing, "we must bury him."

"Oh, when?" asked Mildred.

"Better do it while his face looks as it does now. To-morrow is Sunday. We will do no work to-morrow, and bury Geordie."

"Where? How?"

"We will choose the prettiest place we can find, and the quietest."

"I wish the pastor was here," said Mildred. "I never saw a funeral, except passing one in the road sometimes."

"We need not be afraid of doing wrong about the funeral, dear. We must make some kind of little coffin; and Roger will help me to dig a grave, and if we have no pastor to say prayers, you and I know that in our hearts we shall be thanking God for taking our little brother to be safe and happy with him."

"And then I may plant some flowers upon his grave, may not I? And that will bring the bees humming over it. How fond he was of going near the hives, to hear the bees hum! Where shall his grave be?"

"Under one of the trees, one of the shadiest."

"Oh, dear—here comes Ailwin! I wish she would let us alone."

Ailwin was crying too much to speak. She took the body from Mildred's arms with a gentle force, kissing the little girl as she did so. She covered up the baby's face with her apron as she walked away.

The children went among the trees to fix on a spot for the grave. They found more than one that they liked; but suddenly remembered that the ground was hard, and that they had no spade, nor any tool with which they could make a deep hole.

Oliver was greatly disturbed at this,—more than he chose to show when he saw how troubled his sister also was. After thinking for some time to no purpose,—feeling that he could not bear to commit the body to the foul flood, and remembering with horror how many animals were scratching up the earth all over the Red-hill, where the ground was not too hard, and how many odious birds of prey were now hovering in the air, at all hours,—after thinking over these things with a heavy heart, he begged Mildred to go home to Ailwin, and to ask Roger to come to him in the wood, to consult what must be done.

Mildred readily went: but she hardly liked to speak to Roger when she saw him. He was watching, with a sulky air, what Ailwin was doing, as she bent over the mattress. His eyes were red with crying; but he did not seem the more gentle for that. When Mildred had given her message, he moved as if he thought it a great trouble to go; but Mildred then suspected what was indeed the truth,—that he was unhappy at the child's death, and was ashamed of appearing so, and put on a gruff manner to hide it. Seeing this, the little girl ran after him, as he sauntered away, put her hand in his, and said,—

"Do help Oliver all you can. I know how he would have tried to help you if George had been your little brother."

"'Tis all the same as if he had been," muttered Roger. "I'm sure I am just as sorry."

"Are you, indeed?" said Mildred, her eyes now filling with tears.

Roger could not bear to see that; and he hastened away. Mildred found a great change when she looked on the baby's face again. The eyes were quite closed, and Ailwin had tied a bandage round his head,—under the chin, and among the thick hair which used to curl so prettily, but which had hung straight and damp since he had been ill. He was now strangely dressed, and laid out straight and stiff. He did not look like Geordie; and now Mildred began to know the dreary feelings that death brings into families. She longed for Oliver to come home; and would have gone to see what he was about, but that she did not like to leave the tent and the body while Ailwin was busy elsewhere, which was now the case.

When, at length, the boys returned, they reported that, for many reasons, there could not be a grave under the trees, as they would have liked. They had hopes of making one which would save the body from the flood, and would serve at least till the day (if that day ever came) when it might be removed to some churchyard. They had no tools to dig a deep hole with; and if there was a hole, it must be deep: but they found they could excavate a space in the bank, under the trunk of one of the large buried forest-trees. They could line this hole with hewn stones brought from the shattered wall of the house, and could close it in also with a stone,—thus making the space at once a coffin and a grave, as secure from beast or bird of prey as any vault under any church-wall. Oliver had found among the ruins one of the beautiful carved stones which he had always admired as it surmounted the doorway of their home. With this he meant to close in the little vault. At some future time, if no one should wish to disturb the remains, ivy might be led over the face of the bank, and about this sculptured stone; and then, he thought, even those who most loved little George could not wish him a better grave.



CHAPTER TEN.

GRAVES IN THE LEVELS.

Oliver so much wished that the next day (Sunday, and the day of his little brother's funeral) should be one of rest and decent quiet, that he worked extremely hard, as long as the light lasted, and was glad of all the help the rest of the party could give.

To make an excavation large enough for the body was no difficult task;— the earth being soft, and easily removed from the trunks, roots, and branches of buried trees, which seemed to run all through the interior of the bank. But the five stones with which the grave was to be lined were of considerable thickness; and Oliver chose to have them nicely fitted in, that no living creature should be able to enter this place sacred to the dead.

How astonished were they all to find that this was already a place of the dead! While Ailwin was holding one of the stones against one end of the excavation, and Oliver was striking and fixing it with the great hammer, Roger was emptying out soil from the other end. He exclaimed that he had come upon some large thing made of leather.

"I dare say you have," said Ailwin. "There are all manner of things found by those who dig in the Levels—except useful things, I mean. No one ever knew anything useful come out of these odd places."

"You are wrong there," said Roger. "I have got useful things myself from under the carr, that brought me more money than any fish and fowl I ever took out of the ponds on it. Uncle and I found some old red earthenware things..."

"Old red earthenware!" exclaimed Ailwin. "As if old earthenware was better than fish and fowl, when there is so much new to be had now-a-days! My uncle is a sailor, always going between this and Holland; and he says the quantity of ware they bring over in a year will hold victuals for all Lincolnshire. And Dutch ware does not cost above half what it did in my grandfather's time: so don't you be telling your wonderful tales, Roger. We sha'n't believe them."

"Well, then don't. But I say again, uncle Stephen and I took gold for the old red ware we got out of a deep hole in the carr."

"Very likely, indeed. I wonder who has gold to throw away in that manner. However, I don't say but there may be such. 'Fools and their money are soon parted,' some folks say."

"Who gave you the gold?" asked Oliver.

"You may ask that," said Roger; "but you may not believe me when I tell you. You know the Earl of Arundel comes sometimes into these parts. Well,—it was he."

"When? Why?"

"He often comes down to see the Trent, having the care of the forests upon it: and one time he stopped near here, on his way into Scotland, about some business. They say he has a castle full of wonderful things somewhere."

"What sort of things?" asked Ailwin. "Horn spoons and pewter drinking-mugs to his old red earthenware?"

"Perhaps," replied Roger, "But I heard nothing of them. What I heard of was old bricks, and stone figures, and all manner of stone jars. Well, a gentleman belonging to the Earl of Arundel chanced to come across us, just after we had found a pitcher or two down in the moss; and he made us go with him to the Earl..."

"You don't mean that you ever saw a lord to speak to!" exclaimed Ailwin, turning sharp round upon Roger.

"I tell you I did, and uncle too."

Ailwin muttered that she did not believe a word of it; but her altered manner towards Roger at the moment, and ever after, showed that she did.

"He asked us all manner of questions about the Levels," continued Roger:—"I mean about the things that lie in the moss. He did not seem to care about the settlers and the crops, otherwise than in the way of business. All that he did about the earthenware was plainly for his pleasure. He bought all we could find on that spot; and he said if we found any more curiosities at any time, we were ... But I can't stand talking any more."

And Roger glanced with suspicious eyes from the piece of leather (as he called it) that he had met with in the bank to Oliver. He wanted to have the sole benefit of this new discovery.

"And what were you to do, if you found anything more?" asked Ailwin. "One might easily bury some of the ware my uncle brings, and keep it in the moss till it is well wetted; and then some earl might give one gold for it. Come, Roger, tell me what you were to do with your findings. You owe it to me to tell me; considering that your people have got away my cloak and warm stockings."

"Look for them in the moss,—you had better," said Roger. "You will find them there or nowhere."

Not a word more would he say of his own concerns.

Oliver did not want to hear more. On being told of the Earl of Arundel's statues and vases, he had, for a moment, longed to see them, and wondered whether there were any alabaster cups in the collection; but his thoughts were presently with George again. He remembered that Mildred had been left long enough alone with the body; and he dismissed Ailwin, saying that he himself should soon have done, it was now growing so dark.

As he worked on silently and thoughtfully, Roger supposed he was observing nothing; and therefore ventured, turning his back on Oliver, to investigate a little more closely the leathern curiosity he had met with. He disengaged the earth more and more, drew something out, and started at what he saw.

"You have found a curiosity," observed Oliver, quietly. "That is a mummy."

"No—'tis a man," exclaimed Roger, in some agitation. "At least it is something like a man. Is not this like an arm, with a hand at the end of it?—a little dried, shrunk, ugly arm. 'Tis not stiff, neither. Look! It can't be Uncle Stephen, sure—or Nan!"