I followed him. He struck a match that he had in his
pocket, and lighted a little lantern that hung under the stairs. His
room was a perfect rubbish heap. The floor, bed, chairs, pitcher,
basin--everything was covered or filled with garden mold and turnips.
Never did I behold such a scene. He stood in the midst of it, holding
his lantern high above his head. At length he spoke.

"If we had time," he said, "we might come down here and pick out a lot
of turnips."

"But how about your furniture?" I exclaimed.

"Oh, that's ruined!" he replied.

So we did not attempt to save any of it, but we got hold of his trunk
and carried that on shore.

When we returned, we found that the water was pouring through his
partition, making the room a lake of mud. And, as the water was rising
rapidly below, and the boat was keeling over more and more, we thought
it was time to leave, and we left.

It would not do to go far away from our possessions, which were piled up
in a sad-looking heap on the shore; and so, after I had gone over to the
milk-woman's to assure Euphemia of our safety, the boarder and I passed
the rest of the night--there was not much of it left--in walking up
and down the beach smoking some cigars which he fortunately had in his
pocket.

In the morning I took Euphemia to the hotel, about a mile away--and
arranged for the storage of our furniture there, until we could find
another habitation. This habitation, we determined, was to be in a
substantial house, or part of a house, which should not be affected by
the tides.

During the morning the removal of our effects was successfully
accomplished, and our boarder went to town to look for a furnished room.
He had nothing but his trunk to take to it.

In the afternoon I left Euphemia at the hotel, where she was taking a
nap (she certainly needed it, for she had spent the night in a wooden
rocking-chair at the milk-woman's), and I strolled down to the river to
take a last look at the remains of old Rudder Grange.

I felt sadly enough as I walked along the well-worn path to the
canal-boat, and thought how it had been worn by my feet more than any
other's, and how gladly I had walked that way, so often during that
delightful summer. I forgot all that had been disagreeable, and thought
only of the happy times we had had.

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and the wind had entirely died
away. When I came within sight of our old home, it presented a doleful
appeara