the
surrounding country was visible from the chimney-top. The only thing
that remained obvious to old Liz was the fact that the hut still
floated, and was held in position by a stout branch which had caught the
roof.

We have said that thought--that is, profound or consecutive thought--was
a trouble to old Liz. Her mind leaped in an interjectional, flashing
manner. Her actions were impulsive. A tall tree, a squirrel, and a
bird's-eye view flashed into her brain at the same moment. She desired
the last, and proceeded to act like the second, by seizing a limb of the
first, which hung conveniently at her elbow. But her emulation of the
squirrel was not very successful, for, although a strong frame and
powerful will are useful in climbing tall trees, petticoats, even when
short, are against that operation. It is needless to say, however, that
in the case of old Liz difficulties were only met to be overcome. In
five or ten minutes she stood with dishevelled hair, bleeding hands, and
torn garments, among the topmost branches of the tall tree, and surveyed
the world beneath with feelings of mingled surprise and dismay. There
was evidently no abatement of the flood. On her left hand lay a
boundless lake; on her right there spread out a little archipelago of
trees and bushes. While she gazed her eye was arrested by two dark
specks on the horizon. Could they be boats? Yes; they moved! Clearly
they must be either boats or canoes.

One of the old woman's intellectual flashes occurred at this point.
There was a fishing-rod in the hut below, a primitive one, such as Adam
might have used in Eden--the branch of a tree.

Down came old Liz, much faster than she went up; slipping, scratching,
rending, grasping, and clutching, until she gained the chimney, down
which she went unceremoniously, alighting as formerly, with a squash
which not only alarmed but besprinkled the old couple.

Liz caught up the rod, tied an apron to it, and then, using it as a
lance, charged the fireplace. It stuck, of course, but Liz was in no
mood to be baffled. She bent the rod powerfully and forced it up.
Following it, she emerged from the chimney, and, with a spirit worthy of
Excelsior, bore her banner to the tall tree-top, and fastened it to the
topmost bough with the last remnant of her torn neckerchief.

It was in the morning of the day about which we now write, that Victor
Ravenshaw and his friends arrived at the settlement. We have s