harp went up between two stout fellows, tingling with little sighs as they bumped it on the steps.  Tante-gra’mere’s room was invaded, and her treasures were transferred before she had a chance to prohibit it.  The children were taken from their beds by the nurse, and carried to beds made for them in the attic, where they gazed awhile at their rude dark canopy of rafters, and fell asleep again in luxury, sure of protection, and expecting much of such novel times.

The attic, like the house under it, had dignity of space, in which another large family might have found shelter.  Over rawhide trunks and the disused cradle and still-crib was now piled the salvage of a wealthy household.  Two dormer windows pierced the roof fronting the street, and there was also one in the west gable, extending like a hallway toward the treetops, but none in the roof at the back.

The timbers of the house creaked, and at every blow of the water the inmates could hear it splashing to the chimneys on one side, and running down on the other.

“Now,” said Captain Saucier desperately, “tante-gra’mere must be roused and carried up.”

“Yes, the feather beds are all piled together for her, with fresh linen sheets and all her cushions; but,” gasped madame his wife, “she has never before been waked in the night.  Is it not better to send Angelique to bring her by degrees into a frame of mind for being removed?”

“There is no time.  I have left her till the last minute, hoping she might wake.”

They made a procession into her chamber, Angelique and Peggy carrying candles, the grand-nephew and grand-niece ready for a conflict.  Waters booming against the house, and already making river coves of familiar rooms, were scarcely more to be dreaded than the obstinate will of a creature as small as a child.

Angelique lifted a ruffle of tante-gra’mere’s nightcap and whispered in her ear.  She stirred, and struck out with one hand, encountering the candle flame.  That brought her upright, staring with indignant black eyes at the conclave.

“Dear tante-gra’mere, we are in danger.  There is a great overflow of the rivers.”

The autocrat felt for her whip in its accustomed place, and armed herself with it.

“Pardon us for disturbing you, tante-gra’mere,” said her grand-nephew, “but I am obliged to carry you into the attic.”

“Is the sun up?” cried the little voice.

“The water is, madame,” answered Peggy.

“If you wait for the sun, tante-gra’mere,” urged her grand-nephew’s wife, “you will drown here.”

“Do you tell me I will drown in my own bed?  I will not drown.  Where is Wachique?”

“She is carrying your chairs into the attic, tante-gra’mere.”

“My chairs gone to the attic in my lifetime?  And who has claimed my dower chest and my linen?”

“All your things are safely removed except this bedstead, madame,” declared Angelique’s mother.  “They were set down more carefully than my china.”