ed.

A story is told of an old negro who obstinately refused to leave his
house at a time when the unusually high water made it necessary to
remove the people to a place of greater security. The rafts were
ready, and the people, scared and anxious, had left their houses, and
now only wailed for old Todge, who, with mulish persistence, refused
to be moved. At length, unable to persuade him, and afraid to wait
longer, they poled the rafts away. For the first few hours Todge got
on very well. He had plenty of provisions, and, as for the isolation,
he did not care for it. By and by the water began to make its
appearance upon his hearth, and, before long, his little bank of coal,
upon which his bread was baking, began to sizzle, and soon became a
moist and blackened heap. Todge, however, was not imaginative, and
when night fell, he lay down upon his bed and slept without fear; that
is, he slept until his bed began to float, then he awoke and groped
his way neck deep in water until he found his ladder and managed by it
to climb up into his loft, where he sat shivering, till suddenly he
felt the cabin give a lurch, and the water rushed in. It had been
lifted clear off the piles, and when it should settle down poor Todge
would be caught like a rat in a hole. It was settling fast, and the
water was gurgling into poor Todge's ears, when, in desperation, he
made a bolt at the roof, and, using his head as a battering ram,
succeeded in knocking a hole in it, through which he contrived to
creep out. Luckily, the point of the chimney was not quite submerged,
and Todge was rescued in the course of the following day.

The road, following the winding of the river, is bordered by giant
trees from whose branches the gray moss waves dreamily, while leaves
of palest yellow drop and silently float through the still air until
they fall into the stream. In the fields, the corn-gatherers pause to
doff their hats and smile their welcome. Ere long the barns and
workshops of the upper plantation become visible. The tall gables and
chimneys of the great house glisten in the sunlight. They pass the
little church, with its bell half hidden amid the brown leaves of the
great oak from which it dangles; from cabin chimneys, half hidden in
trees, thin columns of smoke ascend and mingle with the soft blue sky.

At the open gate, a broadly smiling dusky group stands with welcome
depicted upon every face. Hearty handshakes of real affection are
exchanged,