on the muddy bough, and he went headlong down splash into
five feet of water and mud, to rise again looking the most pitiable
object imaginable.

"Pomp come up again?" he asked, dolefully.

"No; go and have a good wash," said my father, and as the boy went off
swimming and wading, we two descended into the thin mud and water, and
made our way toward the house.

I looked up at my father to see what he would say to the desolation, as
I saw the change that had taken place in so short a time, and then,
miserably weak and half-hysterical as I was--perhaps that was the
cause--I burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. For Pomp had
come close up behind us, after an expedition to the hut that had been
made for his home, and his sharp voice rose suddenly just in the midst
of our sad thoughts, with--

"Oh! Here a mess!"

Even my father could not help laughing as he looked at the boy.

But there was nothing humorous in the scene to Pomp, who looked up at my
father with his brow knit, and continued--

"Place all gone--wash away, and can't find my tick."

"The hut washed away?" asked my father.

"Iss; all agone."

"Never mind! We must build another. Well, Morgan, can you find
anything to eat?"

For Morgan had just waded out of the house again with a basket in his
hand, and he hastened to open it and produce a couple of roast fowls and
a couple of loaves of bread, the latter all swollen up into a great sop,
while the former were covered with a thin coating of mud.

"Quick!" said my father, seizing one of the fowls and cutting it in two;
"get a rope from the shed, and the little ladder. Take this to your
wife at once. No; stop a minute. Here, you go, George; there is some
wine in the cupboard."

I went splashing through the door, and fetched the bottle, for I knew
exactly where it stood; and on my return this was given to Morgan, who
was sent at once to the tree, while we four stood there in the water
eating the remains of the fowls ravenously, both Hannibal and Pomp
evidently enjoying the well-soaked bread, which was not bad to one so
hungry as I, after I had cut away the muddy outside.

"Yes," said my father, smiling at Pomp, after we had relieved the
terrible cravings of hunger from which we had suffered; "it is a mess.
But look, George, the water is still sinking fast."

That was plain enough to see now, and as it went lower and lower, the
damage done, though of course great, was not what might have