The mighty body of snow, pierced in a thousand places by the rain as by liquid fingers, settled with inconceivable rapidity.  Great drifts which had slanted to the tops of north windows twelve hours before were almost gone.  The wide snow-levels of the fields were all honey-combed and glistening here and there with pools.  The trees dripped with clots of melting snow, there were avalanches from the village roofs, and even in the houses was heard the roar of the brook.  It was, however, no longer a brook, not even a river, but a torrent.  It over spread its banks on either side.  Forest trees stood knee-deep in it, their branches swept it.  At three o’clock Jerome’s mill was surrounded, though on one side by only a rippling shallow of water.  He had plenty of helpers all day; for if his dam and mill went, there was danger to the Main Street bridge.  Now they had all taken advantage of the last firm footing, and left the mill.  They had joined a watching group on a rise of ground beyond the flood.  The rain was slacking somewhat, and half the male portion of the village seemed assembled, watching for the possible destruction of the mill.  Now and then came a hoarse shout across the swelling water to Jerome.  He alone remained in his mill, standing by the great door that overlooked the dam and the falls.  He was high above it, but the spray wet his face.

The great yellow flood came leaping tumultuously over the dam, and rebounding in wild fountains of spray.  Trees came with it, and joists—­a bridge somewhere above had gone.  Strange, uncanny wreckage, which could not be defined, bobbed on the torrent, and took the plunge of annihilation over the dam.  Every now and then came a cry and a groan of doubt from the watchers, who thought this or that might be a drowned man.

Besides the thundering rush of the water there were other sounds, which Jerome seemed to hear with all his nervous system.  The mill hummed with awful musical vibrations, it strained and creaked like a ship at sea.

The hoarse shouts from the shore for him to leave the mill were redoubled, but he paid no heed.  He was on the other side, and knew nothing of a sudden commotion among the people when Jake Noyes came dashing through the trees and calling for Doctor Prescott, who had joined them some half hour before.

“Come quick, for God’s sake!” he shouted; “you’re wanted on the other side of the brook, and the bridge will be gone, and you’ll have to go ten miles round.  Colonel Lamson is down with apoplexy!”

Jerome did not know when the doctor followed Noyes hurriedly out to the road where his team was waiting, and Squire Eben Merritt went at a run after them, shouting back, “Don’t let that boy stay in that mill too long; see to it, some of you.”

There came a great barn-roof down-stream, followed by a tossing wake of hay and straw.  The crowd on shore groaned.  It broke when it passed the falls, and so the danger to the bridge below was averted, but a heavy beam slewed sidewise as it passed the mill, and struck it.  The mill quivered in every beam, and the floor canted like the deck of a vessel.  Martin Cheeseman rushed in and caught Jerome roughly by the arm.  “For God’s sake, what ye up to?” he shouted above the roar of the water, “Come along with ye.  She’s goin’!”