Then came silence—­silence!

“She’s rising!” said Belle.

Miss Carter went blindly into the house.  She was ashen and seemed to be choking.  She sat down.

“They’ll be back in no time,” said she, in a sick voice.

“Sure!” said Belle, moistening her lips.

There was a long silence.  Rain drummed on the roof.

“Do you swim, Belle?” Miss Carter asked after a restless march about the room.

“Some—­I couldn’t swim with the baby—­”

Miss Carter was not listening.  She leaned her head against the mantelpiece.  Suddenly she began to walk again, her eyes wild, her breath uneven.

“Well, there must be something we can do, Belle!”

“I’ve been trying to think,” said Belle, slowly.  “A bread board wouldn’t float, you know, even if the baby would sit on it.  We’ve not got a barrel—­and a box—­”

“There must be boxes!” cried the other woman.

“Yes; but the least bit of a tip would half fill a box with water.  No—­” Belle shook her head.  “I’m not a good enough swimmer.”

Another short silence.

“Belle, does this river rise every winter?”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does.  I know one year Emville was flooded and the shops moved upstairs.  There was a family named Wescott living up near here then—­” Belle did not pursue the history of the Westcott family, and Miss Carter knew why.

“Oh, I think it is criminal for people to build in a place like this!” Miss Carter burst out passionately.  “They’re safe enough—­oh, certainly!” she went on with bitter emphasis.  “But they leave us—­”

“It shows how little you know us, thinking we’d run any risk with Timmy—­” Belle said stiffly; but she interrupted herself to say sharply:  “Here’s the water!”

She went to the door and opened it.  The still waters of Beaver Creek were lapping the porch steps.

Miss Carter made an inarticulate exclamation and went into her room.  Belle, following her to her door, saw her tear off her shoes and stockings, and change her gown for some brief, dark garment.

“It’s every one for himself now!” said Miss Carter, feverishly.  “This is no time for sentiment.  If they don’t care enough for their child to—­This is my gym suit—­I’m thankful I brought it.  Don’t be utterly mad, Belle!  If the water isn’t coming, Timmy’ll be all right.  If it is, I don’t see why we should be so utterly crazy as not to try to save ourselves.  We can easily swim it, and then we can get help—­You’ve got a bathing suit—­go put it on.  My God, Belle, it’s not as if we could do anything by staying.  If we could, I’d—­”

Belle turned away.  When Miss Carter followed her, she found her in Mrs. Tressady’s bedroom, looking down at the sleeping Timmy.  Timmy had taken to bed with him a box of talcum powder wrapped in a towel, as a “doddy.”  One fat, firm little hand still held the meaningless toy.  He was breathing heavily, evenly—­his little forehead moist, his hair clinging in tendrils about his face.