do but to
watch and wait--for what or how long, no one could tell.

[Illustration: THEY HELD THEIR BREATH.--_Page 290._]

The sun shone out on the water. Below, lay the city. The portion which
stood low was flooded to the second floor. Hester thought of Aunt Debby
as her eyes rested on the distant town.

"There is no fear there," said Helen following the glance of her
roommate's eyes. "Fairview Street is the highest in town. You remember
there is a terrace with steps where it joins Market. The tops of the
buildings on Fourth Street will be covered before it comes to the doors
of Fairview."

Hester knew that this was true. No immediate danger threatened the
little cottage. The seminary with its old walls and the current from
both river and creek beating upon it was where fear lay.

"Look!" cried Helen, pointing her finger to midstream. There bobbing
along like a cork on the current was a stable one side of which had been
torn away. The mow was filled with hay, and in the stalls beneath was a
horse feeding from the manger. It bobbed along serenely, as though
midriver in a high flood were the legitimate place for a stable. Then it
struck the sides of the bridge. There was the sound of crushing and the
barn was sucked down under the bridge and disappeared from sight.

The morning passed and the girls sat in the window seats, fascinated by
the sea before them.

The water continued rising until twelve o'clock. It filled the lower
halls and crept almost to the second floor. The water-pipes burst and a
famine of drink as well as food came. Fortunately, the experiences of
the day had taken away the appetite.

"I have been watching that old tree," said Hester. "When the clock
struck twelve, the water had just reached the notch at the branches. It
is one o'clock now and it has not gone higher."

The waters were at a standstill. The worst was over. At three o'clock,
Hester cried out with delight. "It is falling--falling! See the trunk of
the tree shows above the water."

It was slowly receding. The danger-mark had passed, although the signs
of havoc it had caused, were yet passing on the breast of the river. A
part of a kitchen went sailing by. The watchers saw the upper window of
a half-submerged house. There was a bed, a cradle, and a sewing-machine
open and ready for use. There were pathos and tragedy sufficient for a
lifetime. There was a touch of humor too, for on a long plank, at either
end, sat a rat and a great