the bridge; the water isn't deep enough
to hurt you." She tried twice, then she saw him give Polly the lamp,
and run down the hall. He came back in an instant with the broom.
Polly held the lamp high, Adam went down the walk to the gate and
started up the sidewalk. "He's using his head," said Kate to the tree.
"He's going to wait until he reaches the bridge to start his light, so
it will last longer. THAT is BATES, anyway. Thank God!"

Adam scratched several matches before he got the broom well ignited,
then he held it high, and by its light found the end of the bridge.
Kate called to him to stop and plunging and splashing through mud and
water, she reached the bridge before the broom burned out. There she
clung to the railing she had insisted upon, and felt her way across to
the boy. His thin cotton night shirt was plastered to his sturdy
little body. As she touched him Kate lifted him in her arms, and
almost hugged the life from him.

"You big man!" she said. "You could help Mother! Good for you!"

"Is the dam gone?" he asked.

"Part of it," said Kate, sliding her feet before her, as she waded
toward Polly in the doorway.

"Did Father shut the sluice-gate, to hear the roar?"

Kate hesitated. The shivering body in her arms felt so small to her.

"I 'spect he did," said Adam. "All day he was fussing after you
stopped the roar." Then he added casually: "The old fool ought-a
known better. I 'spect he was drunk again!"

"Oh, Adam!" cried Kate, setting him on the porch. "Oh, Adam! What
makes you say that?"

"Oh, all of them at school say that," scoffed Adam. "Everybody knows
it but you, don't they, Polly?"

"Sure!" said Polly. "Most every night; but don't you mind, Mother,
Adam and I will take care of you."

Kate fell on her knees and gathered both of them in a crushing hug for
an instant; then she helped them into to dry nightgowns and to bed. As
she covered them she stooped and kissed each of them before she went to
warm and put on dry clothes, and dry her hair. It was almost dawn when
she walked to George Holt's door and looked in at him lying stretched
in deep sleep.

"You may thank your God for your children," she said. "If it hadn't
been for them, I know what I would have done to you."

Then she went to her room and lay down to rest until dawn. She was up
at the usual time and had breakfast ready for the children. As they
were starting to school George came into the room.

"Mothe