ss and
a sugar maple.

"Den what for cut um tree?"

"To see whether the water is rising or going down."

"Not do nuffum," said the boy, eagerly. "'Top so."

"Yes, he is right," said my father, who had been higher up the tree,
trying to get a glimpse in the direction of the settlement, in the hope
of help in the shape of a boat being on the way. "The flood seems to
have reached its highest point, and we may begin to hope that it will go
down now."

But the hours glided by and there was no help, and no sign of the flood
sinking. Pomp was quite right; it did "'top so," and we began to suffer
keenly from hunger.

We had long got well warm in the sunshine, and the thirst we felt was
easily assuaged, though there was very little temptation to partake of
the turbid water; but our sensations of hunger grew apace, and I saw
that while we white people sat there about the fork of the tree, trying
to bear our sufferings stoically, both the blacks were in constant
movement, and they had always something to say, Hannibal confining his
remarks however to his son.

"Look, look!" cried Pomp, excitedly; "dah um fis. No got hookum line,
no got net."

He shook his head despondently, evidently quite oblivious of the fact
that even with hook and line he had no bait, and that it was impossible
to use a net.

Then he was off up the tree, first ascending one great bough and then
another, to lean out, staring away between the twigs in search of
something, but he always came down again looking quite disconsolate.

"What have you been looking for?" I said on one of these occasions.

"Simmon tree, Mass' George. No see one nowhere 'bout."

"But you couldn't get there if you could see them."

"No get um?" he said with a laugh. "Pomp no get um? Wait a bit."

"Why, how could you manage?"

"No manage 'tall. 'Wim dah, and 'wim back."

Then we scanned the waste of waters in the hope that we might see
something, even if it was only some drowned animal, but nothing came in
sight till well on in the afternoon, when Hannibal made some remark
which sent Pompey into a tremendous state of excitement.

"What is it?" I cried, eagerly rising from where I had been down to
examine my notch, to find that the water remained nearly unchanged.

"Pomp and um fader see some fis' good to eat," said the boy. "Come
see."

I climbed up to where he was, and he pointed; but for some time I could
make out nothing but driftwood, a tree floating