The Settlers at home

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THE

SETTLERS AT HOME

BY

HARRIET MARTINEAU

AUTHOR OF

6

“THE CROFTON BOYS,” “THE PEASANT AND THE PRINCE,” ETC.

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE



BY HARRIET MARTINEAU.
Price 1s. 6d. each, with Frontispiece.

THE CROFTON BOYS.
THE PEASANT AND THE PRINCE
FEATS ON THE FIORD.
TRADITIONS OF PALESTINE,

‘THE BILLOW AND THE ROCK.
THE SETTLERS AT HOME,



CONTENTS,

CHAP. PAgh
I. THE SETTLERS AT HOME. «© «© © © © o

II. NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES . . 6 6 © «© «© «© © « 2
II. ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR . . 6 6 6 © «© © «© 88
Ivy. A HUNGRY DAY . + ee 6 + © © we ew ew OK
V, SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS . . «
VI. ROGER HIS OWN MASTER. . 2 6 6 6 o ©
VII, ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER « « - « « «© « « 104
VIII. NEW QUARTERS. . « 6 6 6 © © © © © « «© 130
IX. ONE PRISONER RELEASED. .« « 6 6 «© © « « « 142
X. GRAVES IN THE LEVELS . . 2 « 6 2 © © «© « 164
XI. MORE HARDSHIP . . 6 6 «© «© © + «ee © 176

XI NEWS. 2 6 ee ew ew we ww ew ww ee 18S



THE

SETTLERS AT HOME.

CHAPTER I.

Two hundred years ago, the Isle of Axholme was one
of the most remarkable places in England. It is not
an island in the sea. It is a part of Lincolnshire—a
piece of land hilly in the middle, and surrounded by
rivers. The Trent runs on the east side of it; and
some smaller rivers formerly flowed round the rest of
it, joining the Humber to the north. These rivers
carried down a great deal of mud with them to the
Humber, and the tides of the Humber washed up a
great deal of sea-sand into the mouths of the rivers ;
so that the waters could not for some time flow freely,
and were at last prevented from flowing away at all :
they sank into the ground, and made a swamp of it—
a swamp of many miles round the hilly part of the
Isle of Axholme.

This swamp was long a very dismal place. Fish
and water-birds, and rats inhabited it: and here and
there stood the hut of a fowler ; or a peat-stack raised
by the people who lived on the hills round, and who
obtained their fuel from the peat-lands in the swamp.
There were also, sprinkled over the district, a few very
small houses—cells belonging to the Abbey of St.
Mary, at York. To these cells some of the monks



8 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

from St. Mary’s had been fond of retiring, in old
times, for meditation and prayer, and doing good in
the district round; but when the soil became so
swampy as to give them the ague, as often as they paid
a visit to these cells, the monks left off their. practice
of retiring hither ; and their little dwellings stood
empty, to be gradually overgrown with green moss and
lank weeds, which no hand cleared away.

At last a Dutchman, having seen what wonders
were done in his own country by good draining,
thought he could render this’ district fit to be inha-
bited and cultivated : and he made a bargain with the
king about it. After spending much money, and
taking great pains, he succeeded. He drew the waters
off into new channels, and kept them there by sluices,
and by carefully watching the embankments, he had
raised, The land which was left. dry was manured
and cultivated, till, instead of a reedy. and mossy
swamp, there were fields of clover and of corn, and
meadows of the finest. grass, with. cattle and sheep
grazing. in large numbers... The dwellings that were
still. standing were made into, farm-houses, and new
farm-houses were built... A church here, anda, chapel
there was cleaned, and warmed, and. painted, and
opened for worship; and good roads crossed the dis-
trict into all the counties near...

Instead of being pleased with this change, the people
of the country were angry and discontented. Those
who lived near had been long. accustomed. to fishing
and fowling in the swamp, without paying any rent,
or having. to ask anybody’s leave. They had. no,mind
now to settle to the regular toilsome business of farm-
ing,—and to be under a landlord, to whom they must



TILE SETTLERS AT HOME, 7

pay rent. Probably, too, they knew nothing about
farming, and would have failed in it if they had tried.
Thus far they were not to be blamed. But nothing
can exceed the malignity with which they treated the
tenants who did settle in the isle, and the spiteful
spirit which they showed towards them, on every
occasion. / '
These tenants were chiefly foreigners. There was a
civil wax in England at that time : and the Yorkshire
and Lincolnshire people were so much engaged in fight-
ing for King Charles or for the Parliament, that fewer
persons were at liberty to undertake new farms than
there would have been in a time of peace. When the
Dutchman and his companions found that the English
were not disposed to occupy the Levels (as the drained
lands were called), they encouraged some of their own
countrymen to come over. With them arrived some
few Frenchmen, who had been driven from France
into Holland, on account of their being Protestants.
From first to last, there were about two hundred fami-
lies, Dutch and French, settled in the Levels. Some
were collected into a village, and had a chapel opened,
where a pastor of their own performed service for
them. Others were scattered over the district, living
just where their occupations required them to settle.
All these foreigners were subject to bad treatment
from their neighbours; but the stragglers were the
worst off ; because it was easiest to tease and injure
those who lived alone. The disappointed fishers and
fowlers gave other reasons for their own conduct, be-
sides that of being nearly deprived of their fishing and
fowling. These reasons were all bad, as reasons. for
hating always are. One excuse was that the new set-



8 THE SETTLERS Awe NOME

tlers were foreigners :—as if those who were far from
their own land did not need particular hospitality and
kindness. Another plea was that they were con-:
nected with the king, by being settled on the lands
which he had bargained to have drained: so that all
who sided with the parliament ought to injure the new
tenants, in order to annoy the king. If the settlers
had tried to serve the king by injuring his enemies,
this last reason might have passed in a time of war.
But it was not so. It is probable that the foreigners
did not understand the quarrel. At any rate, they
took no part in it. All they desired was to be left in
peace, to cultivate the lands they paid rent for. But,
instead of peace, they had little but persecution.

One of these settlers, Mr. Linacre, was not himself
a farmer. He supplied the farmers of the district with
a manure of a particular kind, which suited some of
the richest soils they cultivated. He found, in the
red soil of the isle, a large mass of that white earth,
called gypsum, which, when wetted and burnt, makes
plaster of Paris ; and which, when ground, makes a
fine manure for some soils, as the careful Dutchmen
well knew. Mr. Linacre set up a windmill on a little
eminence which rose out of the Level, just high
enough to catch the wind; and there he ground the
gypsum which he dug from the neighbouring patch or
guarry. He had.to build some out-houses, but not a
dwelling-house ; for, near his mill, with just space
enough for a good garden between, was one of the
largest of the old cells of the monks of St. Mary’s, so
well built of stone, and so comfortably arranged, that
Mr. Linacre had little to do but to have it cleaned and
furnished, and the windows and doors made new, to



THE SETTLERS AT HOME. &

fit it for the residence of his wife and children, and a
servant.

This building was round, and had three rooms be-
low, and three over them. A staircase of stone was
in the very middle, winding round, like a corkscrew,
—leading to the upper rooms, and out upon the roof,
from which there was a beautiful view,—quite as far
as the Humber to the north-east, and to the circle of
hills on every other side. Each of the rooms below
had a door to the open air, and another to the stair-
case ,—very unlike modern houses, and not so fit as
they to keep out wind and cold. But for this, the
dwelling would have been very warm, for the walls
were of thick stone; and the fire-places were so large,
that it seemed as if the monks had been fond of good
fires. Two of these lower rooms opened into the gar-
den ; and the third, the kitchen, into the yard ;—so
that the maid, Ailwin, had not far to go, to milk the
cow and feed the poultry.

Mrs. Linacre was as neat in the management of her
house as people from Holland usually are ; and she did
not like that the sitting-room, where her husband had
his meals, and spent his evenings, should be littered
by the children, or used at all by them during her
absence at her daily occupation, in the summer. So
she let them use the third room for their employments
and their play. Her occupation, every summer's day,
was serving out the waters from a mineral spring, a
good deal frequented by sick people, three miles from
her house, on the way to Gainsborough. She set off,
after an early breakfast, in the cool of the morning,
and generally arrived at the hill-side where the spring
was, and had unlocked her little shed, and taken ont



10 THE SETTLERS AT HOMs.

her glasses, and rinsed them, before any travellers
passed. It was rarely indeed that a sick person had
to wait a minute for her appearance. There she sat,
wn her shed when it rained, and under a tree when it
was fine, sewing or knitting very diligently when no
customers appeared, and now and then casting a
glance over the Levels to the spot where her husband’s
mill rose in the midst of the green fields, and where
she almost fancied sometimes that she could see the
children sitting on the mill-steps, or working in the
garden. When customers appeared, she was always
ready in a moment to serve them; and her smile
cheered those who were sick, and pleased those who
came merely from curiosity. She slipped the half-
pence she received into a pocket beneath her apron ;
and sometimes the pocket was such a heavy one to
carry three miles home, that she just stepped aside to
the village shop at Haxey, or into a farm-house where
the people would be going to market next day, to get
her copper exchanged for silver. Since the times had
become so troubled as they were now, however, she
had avoided showing her money anywhere on the
road. Her husband’s advice was that she should give
up attending the spring altogether ; but she gained so
much money by it, and it was so likely that somebody
would step into her place there as soon as she gave it
up, so that she would not be able to regain her office
when quieter times should come, that she entreated
him to allow her to go on while she had no fears. She
took the heavy gold ear-rings out of her ears, wore a
plainer'cap, and left her large silver watch at home ;
so that she looked like a poor woman whom no needy
soldier or bold thief would think of robbing. She



THE SETTLERS AT HOME. il

guessed by the sun what was the right time for lock-
ing up her glasses, and going home; and she commonly
met her husband, coming to fetch her, before she had
got half way.

The three children were sure to be perched on the
top of the quarry bank, or on the mill-steps, or out on
the roof of the house, at the top of the winding stair-
case. Little George himself, though only two years
old, knew the very moment when he should shout and
clap his hands, to make his mother wave her handker-
chief from the turn of the road. Oliver and Mildred
did not exactly fecl that the days were too long while
their mother was away, for they had plenty to do;
but they felt that the best part of the day was the hour
between her return and their going to bed: and, un-
like people generally, they liked winter better than
summer, because at that season their mother never left
them, except to go to the shop, or the market at
Haxey.

Though Oliver was only eleven, and Mildred nine,
they were not too young to have a great deal to do.
Oliver was really useful as a gardener; and many a
good dish of vegetables of his growing came to table
in the course of the year. Mildred had to take care
of the child almost all day; she often prepared the
cabbage, and cut the bacon for Ailwin to broil. She
could also do what Ailwin could not,—she could sew a
little; and now and then there was an apron or a
handkerchief ready to be shown when Mrs. Linacre
came home in the evening. If she met with any diffi-
culty in her job, the maid could not help her, but her
father sometimes could; and it was curious to see
Mildred mounting the mill when she was at any loss,



12 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

and her father wiping the white plaster off his hands,
and taking the needle or the scissors in his great
fingers, rather than that his little girl should not be
able to surprise her mother with a finished piece of
work, Then, both Oliver and Mildred had to learn
their catechism, to say to Pastor Dendel on Sunday ;
and always a copy or an exercise on hand, to be ready
to show him when he should call; and some book to
finish that he had lent them to read, and that others
of his flock would be ready for when they had done.
Besides all this, there was an occupation which both
boy and girl thought more of than of all others toge-
ther. Among the loads of gypsum that came to the
mill, there were often pieces of the best kind,—lumps
of real, fine alabaster. Alabaster is so soft as to be
easily worked. Even a finger-nail will make a mark
upon it. Everybody knows how beautiful vases and
little statues, well wrought in alabaster, look on a
mantel-piece, or a drawing-room table. Oliver had
seen such in France, where they are very common:
and his father had carried one or two ornaments of
this kind into Holland, when he had to leave France,
It was a great delight for Oliver to find, on settling in
Axholme, that he could have as much alabaster as he
pleased, if he could only work it. With a little help
from Pastor Dendel and his father, he soon learned to
do so; and of all his employments, he liked this the
best. Pastor Dendel brought him a few bowls and
cups of pretty shapes and different sizes, made of
common wood by a turner, who was one of his flock ;
and Oliver first copied these in clay, and then in
alabaster. By degrees he learned to vary his pat-
terns, and at last to make his clay models from fancies



THE SETTLERS AT TOME, 13

of his own,—some turning out failures, and others
prettier than any of his wooden cups. These last he
proceeded to carve out -* rabaster.

Mildred could not help watching him while he was
about his favourite work, though it was difficult to
keep little George from tossing the alabaster about,
and stamping on the best pieces, or sucking them. He
would sometimes give his sister a few minutes’ peace
and quiet by rolling the wooden bowls the whole
length of the room, and running after them: and
there was also an hour, in the middle of the day, when
he went to sleep in his large Dutch cradle. At those
times Mildred would consult with her brother about
his work ; or sew and watch him by turns; or read
one of the pastor’s little books, stopping occasionally
to wonder whether Oliver could attend at once to his
carving, and to what she was reading. When she
saw that he was spoiling any part, or that his hand
was shaking, she would ask whether he had not
been at work long enough; and then they would
run out to the garden or the quarry, or to jump
George (if he was awake again) from the second mill-
step.

One fine month of August, not a breath of wind
had been blowing for a week or two, so that the mill-
sails had not made a single turn; not a load of
gypsum had been brought during the time, and Oliver
was quite out of alabaster; though, as it happened,
he much wanted a good supply, for a particular reason.
Every morning he brought out his tools; and every
morning the sky was so clear, the corn-fields so still—
the very trees so silent, that he wondered whether
there had ever been so calm a month of Augnst before.



14 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

His father and he employed their time upon the
garden, while they had so good an opportunity. Be-
fore it was all put in order, and the entire stock of
autumn cabbages set, there came a breezy day; and
the children were left to finish the cabbage patch by
themselves, While they were at work, it made them
merry to hear the mill-sails whirring through the
air, and to see, at intervals, the trees above the quarry
bowing their heads, and the reeds waving in the
swamp, and the water of the meadow-ponds dimpling
and rippling, as the wind swept over the Levels. Oliver
soon heard something that he liked better still—the
creak of the truck that brought the gypsum from the
quarry, and the crack of the driver’s whip.

He threw down the dibble with which he was plant-
ing out his cabbages—tripped over the line he had
set to direct his drilling, tumbled on his face,
scrambled up again, and ran, rubbing the dirt from
his knees as he went, to look out some alabaster from
the load.

Mildred was not long after him, though he called
to her that she had better stay and finish the cab-
bages, and though little George, immediately on
feeling himself at liberty, threw himself upon the fresh
mould of the cabbage bed, and amused himself with
pulling up, and flinging right and left, the plants that
had just been set. How could Mildred attend to this,
when she was sure she was wanted to turn over the
gypsum, and see what she could find? So Master
George went on with his pranks, till Ailwin, by acci-
dent, saw him from the yard, ran and snatched him
up, flung him over her shoulder, and carried him away
screaming, til], to pacify him, she set him down among



THE SETTLERS AT HOME, 16

the poultry, which he presently found more amusing
than young cabbage piants.

“Now we shall have a set of new cups for the
spring, presently,” suid Oliver, as he measured lump
after lump with his little foot-rule.

“Cups for the waters !” exclaimed his father. “So
that is the reason of this prodigious hurry, is it, my
boy? ‘You think tin cups not good enough for your
mother, or for her customers, or for the waters. Which
of them do you think ought to be ashamed of tin
cups?”

“The water, most of all. Instead of sparkling in a
clear bright glass, it looks as nasty as it tastes in a
thing that is more brown and rusty every time it is
dipped. 1 will give the folk a pair of cups that shall
tempt them to drink—a pair of cups as white as
milk.”

“They will not long remain white : and those who
broke the glasses will be the more bent upon spoiling
your cups, the more pains you spend upon them.”

“T hope the Redfurns will not happen to hear
of them. We need not blab; and the folk who
drink the waters go their way, as soon as they have
done.”

“Whether the Redfurns be here or there, my boy,
there is no want of prying eyes to see all that the poor
foreigners do. ‘Your mother is watched, it is my be-
lief, every time she dips her cup ; and I in the mill,
and you in the garden. There is no hope of keeping
anything from our enemies.”

Seeing Oliver look about him uneasily, Mr. Linacre
reproached himself for having said anything to alarm
his timid boy: so he added what he himself always



16 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

found the most comforting thought, when he feit dis-
turbed at living among unkind neighbours.

“Let them watch us, Oliver. We do nothing that
we need be ashamed of. The whole world is welcome
to know how we live,—all we do, from year’s end to
year’s end.”

“Yes, if they would let us alone, father. But it is
so hard to have our things broken and spoiled !”

“So it is; and to know what ill-natured talk is
going on about us. But we must let them take their
‘ own way, and bear it as well as we can ; for there is
no help for it.”

“TI wish I were a justice !” cried Mildred. “How I
would punish them, every one!”

“Then I wish you were a justice, my dear; for we
cannot get anybody punished as it is.”

“ Mildred,” said Oliver, “I wish you would finish
the cabbages. You know they must be done; and I
am very busy.”

“Oh, Oliver! I am such a little thing to plant a
whole cabbage bed. You will be able to come by and
by ; I want to help you.”

“You cannot help me, dear : and you know how to
do the cabbages as well as anybody. You really can-
not help me.”

“Well, I want'to see you, then.”

“ There is nothing to see yet. You will have done, if
you make haste, before I begin to cut. Do, dear !”

“Well, I will,” replied Mildred, cheerfully. Her
father caught her up, and gave her one good jump down
the whole flight of steps, then bidding her work away
before the plants were all withered and dead.

She did work away, till she was so hot and tired



‘THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

that she had to stop and rest. There were still twe
rows to plant; and she thought she should never get
through them,—or, at any rate, not before Oliver had
preceeded a great way with his. carving. She was
going to cry ; but she remembered how that would vex
Oliver: so she restrained herself, and ran to ask Ailwin
whether she could come and help. did what everybody asked her; so she gave over
sorting feathers, and left them all about, while she
went down the garden.

Mildred knew she must take little George away, or
he would be making confusion among the feathers that
had been sorted. She invited him to go with her, and
peep over the hedge at the g»ese in the marsh; and
the little fellow took her fore-finger, and trotted away
with his sister to the hedge.

There were plenty of water-fowl in the marsh ; and
there was something else which Mildred did not seem
to like. While George was quack-quacking, and making
himself as like a little goose as he could, Mildred
softly called to Ailwin, and beckoned her to the hedge.’
Ailwin came, swinging the great spade in her right
hand, as easily as Mildred could flourish George’s whip

“Took,—look there !—under that bank, by the
dyke !” said Mildred, as softly as if she had been afraid
of being heard at a yard’s distance. ‘

“Eh! look—if it be not the gipsies!” cried Ailwin,
almost as loud as if she had been talking across the
marsh. ‘Eh, dear! we have got the gipsies upon us
now ; and what will become of my poultry? Yon is
a gipsy tent, sure; and we must tell the master and
mistress, and keep an eye on the poultry. Sure, yor
is a gipsy tent.”

2



18 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

Little George, thinking that everybody was very
much frightened, began to roar; and that made Ailwin
talk louder still, to vomfort him ; so that nothing that
Mildred said was heard. At last, she pulled Ailwin’s
apron, so that the tall woman stooped down, to ask

what she wanted.
“T do not think it is the gipsies,” said she. “Iam

afraid it is worse than that. I am afraid itis the Red-
furns. This is just the way they settle themselves—in just
that sort of tent—when they come to fowl, all autumn.”

“Tf I catch that Roger,” said Ailwin, “ I’11——”
And she clenched her hand, as if she meant to do ter-
rible things, if she caught Roger.

“ T will go and call fath :v, shall I?” said Mildred, her
teeth chattering, as she stood in the hot sun.

She was turning to go up the garden, when a laugh
from George made her look back again. She saw a
head covered with an otter-skin cap,—the face looking
very cross and threatening, peeping over the hedge,—
which was so high above the marsh, that the person
must have climbed the bank on purpose to look into
the garden. There was no mistaking the face. It was
certainly Roger Redfurn—the plague of the settlers,
who, with his uncle, Stephen Redfurn, was always
doing all the mischief he. could to everybody who had,
as he said, trespassed on the marshes. Nobody tiked
to see the Redfurns sitting down in the neighbourhood ;
and still less, skulking about the premises. Mildred
flew towards the mill; while Ailwin, who never
stopped to consider what was wise, and might not,
perhaps, have hit upon wisdom if she had, took up a
stone, and told Roger he had better be gone, for that
he had no friends here. Roger seemed to have jus



THE SETTLERS AT HOME. 19

come from some orchard ; for he pulled a hard apple
aut of his pocket, aimed it at Ailwin’s head, and struck
her such a blow on the nose as made her eyes water.
While she was wiping her eyes with her apron, and
trying to see again, Roger coaxed the child to bring
him his apple again, and disappeared.

When Mildred reached the mill, she found Pastor
Dendel there, talking with her father about sending
some manure to his land. The pastor was so busy,
that he only gave her a nod; and she had therefore
time to recover herself, instead of frightening every-
body with her looks and her news at once. Oliver
could not stay in the house while the pastor was at
the mill: so he stood behind him, chipping away at
the rough part of his work. Mildred whispered to
him that the Redfurns were close at hand. She saw
Oliver turn very red, though he told her not to be
frightened. Perhaps the pastor perceived this too,
when he turned round, for he said—

“ What is the matter, children? Mildred, what have
you been doing, that you are so out of breath? Have
you beén running all the way from Lincoln spire ?”

“No, sir; not running,—but——”

“The Redfurns are come, sir,” cried Oliver. “Father,
the Redfurns are come.”

“Roger has been peeping over the hedge into the
garden,” cried Mildred, sinking into tears.

The miller looked grave, and said here was an end
of all peace, for some time to come.

“Are you all at the mercy of a boy like Roger
Redfurn,” asked the pastor, “so that you leek as if a
plague bad come with this fresh breeze ?”

“ And his uncle, sir”

Q—.



20.~—(« THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

“ And his aunt,” added Mildred.

“You know what Stephen Redfurn is, sir,” observed
Mr. Linacre. “ Roger beats even him for mischief.
And we are at their mercy, sir. There is not a magis-
trate, as you know, that will hear a complaint from
one of us against the country people. We get nothing
but trouble, and expense, and ridicule, by making com-
plaints. We know this beforehand ; for the triumph
is always on the other side.”

“Tt is hard,” said the pastor: “but still,—here is
only a man, a woman, anda boy. Cannot you defend
yourselves against them ?”

“No, sir; because they are not an honourable
enemy,” replied Mr. Linacre.- “If Stephen would
fight it out with me on even ground, we would see who
would beat: and I dare say my boy there, though
none of the roughest, would stand up against Roger.
But such fair trials do not suit them, sir. People who
creep through drains, to do us mischief, and hide in the
reeds when we are up and awake, and come in among
us only when we are asleep, are a foe that may easily
ruin any honest man, who cannot get protection from
the law. They houghed my cow, two years ago, sir.”

“And they mixed all mother’s feathers, for -the
whole year,” exclaimed Mildred.

“And they blinded my dog,” cried Oliver ;—* put
out its eyes.”

“Oh! what will they do next?” said Mildred, look-
ing up through her tears at the pastor.

“ Worse things than even these have been done te
some of the people in my village,” replied the pastor:
“and they have been borne, Mildred, without tears.”

‘Mildred made haste to wipe her eyes.



{iE SETTLERS AT HOME. 21

“ And what do you think, my dears, of the life our
Protestant brethren are leading now, in some parts of
the world ?”

“Father came away from France hecause he was ill-
used for being a Protestant,” said Oliver.

“The pastor knows all about that, my boy,” observed
Mr. Linacre.

“Yes, I do,” said the pastor. “I know that you
suffered worse things there than here ; and I know
that things worse than either are at present endured
by our brethren in Piedmont. You have a warm
house over your heads ; and you live in sunshine and
plenty. They are driven from their villages, with fire
and sword—forced to shelter among the snow-drifts,
and pent up in caves till they rush out starving, to im-
plore mercy of their scoffing persecutors. Could you
bear this, children ?”

“They suffer these things for their religion,” ob-
served Oliver. “They feel that they are martyrs.”

“Do you think there is comfort in that thought,—
in the pride of martyrdom,—to the son who sees his
aged parents perish by the wayside,—to the mother
whose infant is dashed against the rock before her
eyes 1”

“ How do they bear it all, then ?”

“They keep one another in mind that it is God’s
will, my dears ; and that obedient children can, if they
try, bear all that God sees fit to lay upon them. So
they praise His name with astrong heart, though their
voices be weak. Morning and night, those mountains
echo with hymns; though death, in one form or
another, is about the sufferers on every side.”

“ My dear,” said Mr. Linacre, “let us make no more



22 THE SETTLERS AT IIOME.

complaints about the Redfurns. TI am ashamed, when
I think of our brethren abroad, that we ever let Ste-
phen and Roger put us up to anger. You will see no
more tears here, sir, I. hope.”

“Mildred will not quite promise that,” said the
pastor, smiling kindly on the little girl. “Make no
promises, my dear, that a little girl like you may be
tempted to break. Only try to forgive all people who
tease and injure you; and remember that nothing
more ever happens than God permits,—though He
does not yet see fit to let us know why.”

“T would only just ask this, sir,” said Mr. Linacre.
“Ts there anything going forward just now which par-
ticularly encourages our enemies to attack us ?”

“The Parliament have a committee sitting at Lin-
coln, at present ; and the king’s cause seems to be low
in these parts. We are thus at the mercy of such ag
choose to consider us king’s men: but there is a
higher and truer mercy always about us.”

The miller took off his hat in token of respect.

The pastor’s eye had been upon Oliver for some
time. He now asked whether he meant to make his
new cups plain, like all the rest, or to try to ornament
them. Mildred assured him that Oliver had carved a
beading round the two last bowls that he had cut.

“TY think you might attempt something far prettier
than beading,” said the pastor ; “particularly with so
many patterns before your eyes to work by.”

Efe was looking up at the little recess above the door
of the house, near which they were standing. This
recess, in which there had formerly been an image,
was surrounded with carved stone-work.

“TY see some foliage there which would answer your



NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 23

purpose, Oliver, if you could make a model trom it.
Let us look closer.” .

And Pastor Dendel fixed a short Jadder against the
house wall, and went up, with Oliver betore him.
They were so busy selecting the figures that Oliver
thought he could copy, and drawing them upon paper,
and then setting about modelling them in clay, that
the Redfurns did not prevent their being happy for
this day, at least. Mr. Linacre, too, was hard at work
all day, grinding, that the pastor's manure might be
served to-morrow ; and he found hard work as good
for an anxious mind as those who have tried generally
find it to be.

CHAPTER II.
NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES.

Wuen Mrs. Linacre was told in the evening of the
arrival of the disagreeable neighbours who were in the
marsh, she was sorry; but when she had gone round the
premises with her husband at night, and found all safe,
and nc tokens of any intrusion, she was disposed to hope
that the Redfurns would, this time, keep to their fish-
ing and fowling, and make no disturbance. Oliver
and Mildred crept down to the garden hedge at sun-
rise, and peeped through it, so as to see all that was
doing in the carr, as the marsh was called.* After
watching some time, they saw Stephen and Roger
creep out from under the low brown tent. As the
almost level sun shone full in their faces, they rubbed

* In that part of the country, @ carr means & morass.
P



24 - THE SETTLERS AT HOME. Sate,

their eyes; then they stretched and yawned, and
seemed to be trying hard to. wake themselves tho-
roughly.

“They have been sound asleep, however,” observed
Oliver to his sister ; “and it is still so early, that I do
not believe they have been abroad about mischief in the
‘night. They would not have been awake yet if they
had.”

“Look! there is a woman!” exclaimed Mildred.
“Ts that Nan?”

“Yes; that is Nan Redfurn,—Stephen’s wife. That
is their great net that she has over her arm. They are
going to draw the oval pond, I think. We can watch
their sport nicely here. They cannot see an inch
of us.”

“But we do not like that they should watch us,”
said Mildred, drawing back. ‘We should not like to
know that they were peeping at us from behind a
hedge.”

“We should not mind it if we were not afraid of
them,” replied Oliver. “It is because they plot mis-
chief that we cannot bear their prying. We are not
going to do them any mischief, you know ; and they
caunot mean to make any secret of what they are
doing in the middle of the carr, with high ground all
about it.”

Satisfied by this, Mildred crouched down, with her
arm about her brother’s neck, and saw the great net
cast, and the pond almost emptied of its fish—some
few being kept for food, and the small fry—especially
of the stickleback—being thrown into heaps, to be
sold for manure.

“Will they come this way when they have done



NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 25

drawing the pond?” asked Mildred, in some fear, as
she saw them moving about.

“T think they will sweep the shallow waters, there
to the left, for more stickleback,” replied Oliver.
“They will make up a load, to sell before the heat of
the day, before they set about anything else.”

Oliver was right. All the three repaired to the
shallow water, and stood among the reeds, so as to be
half hidden. The children could see, however, that
when little George came down the garden, shouting to
them to come to breakfast, the strangers took heed to
the child. They turned their heads for a moment
towards the garden, and then spoke together and
laughed.

“There, now!” cried Oliver, vexed: “that is all
because we forgot to go to breakfast. So much for
my not having a watch! Mother need not have
sent George to make such a noise ; but, if-I had hada
watch, he would not have come at all; and these
people would not have been put in mind of us.”

“You will soon be able to have a watch now, like
the boys in Holland,” said Mildred. “Your alabaster
things will change away for a watch ; will not they?
But we might not have remembered breakfast, if you
had had a watch.”

“We are forgetting it now,” said Oliver, catching
up George, and running to the house, followed by Mil-
dred, who could not help feeling as if Roger was at
her heels.

They were surprised to find how late it was. Their
father was already gone with Pastor Dendel’s load of
manure. Their mother only waited to kiss them
before she went, and to tell them that their father

1”?



26 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

meant to be back as soon as he could; and that,
meantime, neighbour Gool had promised to keep an
eye on the mill. If anything happened to frighten
them, Oliver or Ailwin had only to set the mill-
sails agoing, and neighbour Gool and his men would
be with them presently. She did not think, however,
that anything would happen in the little time that
their father would be away.

“J will tell you what we will do!” cried Oliver,
starting from his chair, after he had been eating his
bread and milk, in silence, for some time after his
mother’s departure. “ Let us dress up a figure to look
like father, and set him at the mill-window ; so that
those Redfurns shall not find out that he is away.
Wont that be good?”

“Put him on the mill-steps. They may not look
up at the window.”

“The mill-steps, then. Where is father’s old hat?
Put it on the broom there, and see how it looks. Run
up to the mill, dear, and bring his jacket—and his
apron,” he shouted as his sister ran.

Mildred brought both, and they dressed up the
broom.

“That will never do,” said Mildred. “Look how
the sleeves hang; and how he holds his head! It is
not a bit like a man.”

“Tis a good scarecrow,” declared Ailwin. “TI have
seen many a worse scarecrow than that.”

“But this is to scare the Redfurns, and they are far
wiser than crows,” said Mildred. “ Look how George
pulls ati the apron, and tugs at the broomstick behind !
It does not scare even him.”

“Tt will look very different on the steps—in the



NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 27

open air,” Oliver declared. “A bunch or two of
straw in the sleeves, and pndee the jacket, will make
it seem ali alive.”

And he carried it out, and tied it upon the mill-
steps. It was no easy matter to fasten it so as to
make it look at all like a man naturally mounting
stairs. The more difficult it was, however, the more
_they all became interested in the business, Mildred
brought straw, and Ailwin tied a knot here, and
another knot there, while Oliver cocked the hat in
various directions upon the head, till they all forgot
what they were dressing up the figure for. The rea-
son popped into Ailwin’s head again, when she had
succeeded in raising the right arm to the rail, in a
very life-like manner.

“There !” said she, stepping backwards to view her
work, “that makes a very good master forme. I will
obey him in everything he bids me till master comes
home.”

At the same moment, she walked backwards against
something, and little George clung screaming to Mil-
dred’s knees. Roger had spread his arms for Ailwin
to walk back into; and Stephen was behind, leaning
against the cowsked. They had been watching all that
the party had been doing, and, having overhear
every word, had found out the reason.

The children saw at once Low very foolish they had
been ; and the thought confused them so much, that
they did not know what to do next. Poor Ailwin,
who could never learn wisdom, more or less, now
made matters worse by all she said and did. Stout
and strong as she was, she could do nothing, for Roger
had taken the hint she had given by walking back-



28 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

wards, with her arms crossed: behind her: he had
pinioned her. She cried out to Oliver to run up, and
set the mill-sails agoing, to bring neighbour Gool.
Stephen took this second hint. He quietly swung
Oliver off the steps, sent down his scarecrow after him,
and himself took his seat on the threshold of the
mill. There he sat, laughing to see how Ailwin
wearied herself with struggles, while Roger, by merely
hanging on her arms, prevented her getting free.
When, however, Oliver flew at the boy, and struck
him some fierce blows, Stephen came down, drove the
little girl and the baby into the house, and locked
them in, and then went to help Roger with his strong
arm.

It was clear to Mildred what she ought to do.
Crying as she was, she put George in a corner, with
some playthings, to keep him from the fire till she
came to him again, and then mounted the stairs, as
quickly as her trembling limbs would let her,—first
to her mother’s room, and then out upon the roof. She
tied a large red handkerchief of her mother’s upon her
father’s Sunday walking-stick, and then waved it, as
high as she could hold it, above her head, while she
considered how she could fasten it; for it would never
do to leave George alone below for many minutes.
Perhaps neighbour Gool had seen it already, and would
soon be here with his men. But, lest he should rot,
she must fix her flag, and trust to Stephen and Roger
not thinking of looking up to the roof from the yard
below. At last, after many attempts, she thrust the
stick into a crevice of the roof, and fixed it with heavy
things round it,—having run down three or four times,
to see that George was safe.



HEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 25

There was indeed no time to be lost, for the intru-
ders below were doing all the mischief they could think
of, short of robbing and burning the premises. The
great tall man, Stephen, strolling about the lower
rooms, found Mrs. Linacre’s knitting, and pulled out
the needles, and unravelled the work. Roger spied a
heap of bulbs on the corner of a high shelf. They
were Mr. Linacre’s rare and valuable tulip-roots,
brought from Holland. Roger cut one of them open,
to see what it looked like, and then threw the whole
lot into the boiler, now steaming over the fire, saying
the family should have a dish the more at dinner to-
day. They got hold of Oliver’s tools, and the cup he
was at work upon. Stephen raised his arm, about to
dash the cup to the ground, when Oliver sprang for-
ward, and said—

“ You shall have it,—you shall have my cup ;—you
don’t know what a beauty it will be, when it is done.
Only let me finish it, and you shall have it in exchange
for the stickleback you caught this morning. The
stickleback will do to manure our garden; and I
am sure you will like the cup, if you will only let
me finish it.”

“Manure your garden, indeed!” cried Stephen,
grufly. “Tl cut up your garden to shreds first.
What business has your garden in our carr? You and
your great landlord will find what it is to set your
outlandish plants growing where our geese ought to
be grazing. We'll show you that we don’t want any
foreigners herc ; and if you don’t like our usage, you
may go home again; and nobody will ery for you
back.”

“We pay for our garden and our mill,” said Oliver



30 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“We wrong nobody, and we werk for our living, and
you are a very cruel man.”

“You pay the king: and the parliament does not
choose that the king should have any more money to
speud against them. Mind you that, boy! And ”

“T am sure I don’t know anything about the king
and the parliament, or any such quarrels,” said Oliver.
“Tt is very hard to punish us for them, it is very
cruel.”

“You shall have reason to call me cruel twenty
times over, if you don’t get away out of our carr,” said
Stephen. “Manure your garden, indeed! Not I!
And you shall not manure another yard in these
Levels. Come here, Roger.”

They went out again into the yard, and Oliver, now
quite overcome, laid down his head on his arms, and
cried bitterly.

“ Here’s your cup, however,” said Ailwin, now re-
leased by Roger’s being employed elsewhere. “ This
bit of plaster is the only thing they have laid hands on
that they have not ruined.”

Oliver started up, and hid his work and tools ina
bundle of straw, in the corner of the kitchen.

“What Mildred will say, I don’t know,” said Ail-
win. “That boy has wrung the neck of her white
hen.”

Oliver was desperate on hearing this. He ran out
to see whether he could not, by any means, get into
the mill, to set the sails agoing: but there were Ste-
phen and Roger, carrying water, which they threw
over all the gypsum that was ground,—floating away
as much as they could of it, and utterly spoiling the
rest, by turning it into a plaster.





4

Q

NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. sl

“Did you ever see the like?” cried Ailwin. “And
there is nothing master is so particular about as keep-
ing that stuff dry. See the woman, too! How Id
like to tug the hair off her head! She looks badly,
poor creature, too.”

Stephen’s wife had, indeed, come up to enjoy the
sport, when she found that no man was on the pre-
mises, and that there was no danger. There she stood,
leaning against a post of the mill, her black, untidy
hair hanging about her pale, hollow cheeks, and her
lean arms crossed upon her bosom.

“There were such ague-struck folk to be seen at
every turn,” said Ailwin, “before the foreigners came
to live in the carr. I suppose they brought some heal-
ing with them ; for one does not often see now such a
poor creature as that. She might be ashamed of
herself,—that woman; she laughs all her poor sides
can, at every pailful Roger pours out.—Eh! but
she’s not laughing now! Eh! what’s the matter
now ?”

The matter was that neighbour Gool was in sight,
with three or four men. A cheer was heard from
them while they were still some way off. Oliver ran
out and cheered, waving his hat over his head. Ailwin
cheered, waving a towel out of the window. Mildred
cheered from the roof, waving her red flag ; and George
stood in the doorway, shouting and clapping his little
hands.

If the object was to catch the trespassers, all this
cheering took place a little too soon. Stephen and
Roger were off, like their own wild ducks,—over the
garden hedge, and out of sight. Neighbour Gool
declared that if they were once fairly among the reeds



32 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

in the marsh, it would be sheer waste of time to search
for them ; for they could dodge and live in the water,
in a way that honest people that lived on proper hard
ground could not follow. Here was the woman; and
yonde: was the tent. Revenge might be taken that
way, better than by ducking in the ponds after the
man and boy. Suppose they took the woman to
prison, and made a great fire in the carr, of the tent
and everything in it!

Oliver did not see that it could make up to them
for what they had lost, to burn the tent; and he was
pretty sure his father would not wish such a thing to
be done. His father would soon be home. As for the
woman, he thought she ought to go to prison, if Mr.
Gool would take her there.

“That I will,” said Gool. “I will go through with
the thing now lam in it. I came off the minute I
saw your red flag; and I might have been here sooner,
if I had not been so full of watching the mill-sails,
that I never looked off from them till my wife came
to help to watch. Come, you woman,” said he to Nan
Redfurn, “make no faces about going to prison, for I
am about to give you a ride there.”

“She looks very ill,” thought Oliver,—“ not fit to be
jolted on a horse.”

“You'll get no magistrate to send me tc prison,”

“said the woman. “The justices are with the parlia-
ment, every one. You will only have to bring me
back, and be sorry you caught me, when you see what
comes of it.”

“Cannot we take care of her here till father comes
home?” said Oliver, secing that neighbour Gool looked
perplexed, and as if he believed what the woman said.



NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 33

“No, no,” said Mildred, whispering to her brother.
* Don’t let that woman stay here.”

“Neighbour Gool will take care of us till father
comes home,” said Oliver: “and the woman looks
so ill! We can lock her up here; and, you see,
Ailwin is ever so much stronger than she is, poor
thing !”

Neighbour Gool put on an air of being rather
offended that nothing great was to be done, after his
trouble in coming to help. In his heart, however, he
was perhaps not very sorry ; for he knew that the ma-
gistrates were not willing to countenance the king’s
settlers in the Levels, while the Parliament Committee
was sitting at Lincoln. Gool patted Oliver's head
when the boy thanked him for coming; and he joked
Mildred about her flag: so he could not be very cross.
He left two men to guard the prisoner and the pre-
mises, till Mr. Linacre should return.

These two men soon left off marching about the
garden and yard, and sat down on the mill-steps ; for
the day grew very hot. There they sat, talking in
the shade, till their dinners should be ready. Nan
Redfurn was so far from feeling the day to be hot,
that when her cold ague-fit came on, she begged to be
allowed to go down to the kitchen fire. Little George
stood staring at her for some time, and then ran away ;
and Mildred, not liking to be in the same room with a
woman who looked as she did, and who was a prisoner,
stole out too, though she had been desired to watcli
the woman till dinner should be ready. Ailwin was
so struck with compassion, that she fetched her warmest
woollen stocki~z3, and her winter cloak of linsey-
woolsey,—it waz such a piteous thing to hear a woman's

3



34 THE SETTLERS AT HOLE.

teeth chattering in her head, in that way, at noon in
the middle of August. Having wrapped her up, she
put her on a stool, close to the great kitchen fire; and
drew out the screen that was used only in winter, to
keep off the draughts from the door. If the poor soul
was not warm in that corner, nothing could make her
so. Then Ailwin began to sing, to cheer her heart,
wd to be amazingly busy in cooking dinner for three
additional persons. She never left off her singing but
when she went out for the vegetables, and other
things she wanted for her cooking; and when she
gaine in again, she resumed her song,—still for the
sake of the poor creature behind the screen.

“Do you feel yourself warmer now, neighbour ?”
said she, at the end of an hour. “If not, you are past
my understanding.”

There was no answer ; and Ailwin did not wonder,
as she said to herself, that it was too great a trouble
for one so poorly to be answering questions : so Ailwin
went on slicing her. vegetables and singing.

“Do you think a drop of cherry-brandy would warm
you, neighbour?” she asked, after a while. “TI wonder
I never thought of that before; only, it is a sort of
thing one does not recollect till winter comes. Shall
I get you a sup of cherry-brandy ?” .

Ai}win thought it so odd that such an offer as this
hhould not be replied to, that she looked hastily
behind the sereen, to see what could be the reason.
There was reason enough. Nobody was there. Nan
Redfurn had made her way out as soon as she found
herself alone, and was gone, with Ailwin’s best winter
stockings and linsey-woolsey cloak.

Ia 5 minute the whole party were looking over the



NUIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 35

hedge into the marsh. Nothing was to be seen but
the low brown tent, and the heap of little fish.
Neither man, woman, nor boy appeared when their
names were shouted forth,

“Oh! my best stockings!” said Ailwin, half crying.

“You have saved your cherry-brandy, my woman ;
that is certain,” observed one of Gool’s men.

“T shall never have any pleasure in it,” sighed the
maid. “I shall never enjoy it, on account of its
reminding me how yon woman has fooled me.”

“Then we will save you that pain,” said the man.
“Tf you will oblige us with it to-day, we wont leave
any to pain you in the winter.”

“For shame!” cried Oliva, “when you know she
has lost her stockings and her cloak already ; and all
out of kindness! I would not drink a drop of her
cherry-brandy, I am sure.”

“Then you shall, Oliver, for saying so, and taking
my part,” said Ailwin. “Iam not going to give it

‘to any one else that has not the ague ; some people
may be assured of that.”

“Tf I thought there was any cherry-brandy for me
when I came back,” said the man, throwing a stone
down, to try the nature of the bog-ground beneath,
“J would get below there, and try what I could find:
I might lay hold of a linsey-woolsey cloak somewhere ©
im the bog.”

“You can never catch the Redfurns, I doubt,” said
Ailwin. “What was it they said to you, Oliver, as
they were going off?”

“They laughed at me for not being able to catch
eels, and asked how I thought I should catch them.

3—a



36 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

They said, when I could decoy wild-fow], I might set
a trap for the Redfurns. But it does not follow that
that is all true because they said it. I don’t see but
they might be caught, if there was any one to do us
justice afterwards. That's the worst part of it, father
says.”

“There’s father!” cried Mildred, as the crack of a
whip was heard. All started off, as if to see who
could carry bad news fastest. All arrived in the yard
together, except Ailwin, who turned back to take up
George, as he roared at being left behind.

“We must want a wise head or two among us,” said
the vexed miller. “If we were as sharp as these
times require, we surely could not be at the mercy of
folk we should scorn to be like. We must give more
heed, and see what is to be done.”

“Rather late for that, neighbour, when here is the
stock you were grinding and grinding for a week, all
gone to plaster,” said one of Gool’s men.

“That is what I say,” replied the miller, contem-
plating the waste ; “ but it may be better late than not
at all.”

Mrs. Linacre was more affected than her husband
by what had happened. When she came home, poor
Mildred’s fortitude had just given way, and she was
crying over the body of her dear white hen. This caused
Ailwin’s eyes to fill at the thought of her stockings
and cloak, so that the family faces looked cheerless
enough. ‘

“We deserve it all,” said Mrs. Linacre, “for leav-
ing our place and our children to the care of Gool’s
men, or of anybody but ourselves. I will go no more
uw ‘re spring. I have been out of my duty; and we



NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 3”

may be thankful that we have been no further
punished.”

As she spoke, a few tears started. Her tears were
so rare, that the children looked in dismay at thein
father.

He gently declared that the more injury they
suffered from the country people, the more they
needed all the earnings they could make. They must
cling to the means of an honest maintenance, and not
throw away such an employment as hers. He would
not leave the children again while the Redfurns were
in the neighbourhood. He would not have left them
to-day, to serve any one but the pastor ; nor to serve
even him, if he had not thought he had bespoken
sufficient protection. Nothing should take him from
home, or his eye off the children, to-morrow, she might
depend upon it.

Mrs. Linacre said that if she must go, she should
take a heavy heart with her. This was, she feared,
but the first of a fresh series of attacks. If so, what
might not they look for next? However, she only
asked to be found in her duty. If her husband desired
her to go, she would go; but she should count over
the hours of the day sadly enough.

Oliver ventured to bring up an old subject. He
said, what he most wanted was to have earned money
enough to get a watch. He was sure he could hide it
so that Roger should never guess he had one; and it
would be such a comfort to know exactly how the
time was going, and when to look.for his mother home,
instead of having to guess, in cloudy weather, the
hour of the day, and to argue the matter with Ailwin
who was always wrong about that particular thing.



38 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

His father smiled mourafully, as he observed, that
he hoped Oliver would never so want bread as to
leave off longing for anything made of gold or silver.



CHAPTER IIL
ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR.

Mrs. Liyacre went to the spring as usual, the next,
morning. If the weather had been doubtful—if there
had been any pretence for supposing that the day
might not be fine, she would have remained at home.
But she looked in vain all round the sky for a cloud ;
and the wide expanse of fields and meadows in the
Levels, with their waving corn and fresh green grass,
seemed to bask in the sunshine, as if they felt its
luxury. It was a glowing August day ;—just such a
day as would bring out the invalids from Gainsborough
to drink the waters ;—just such a day as would tempt
the traveller to stop under the shady shed, where he
could see waters bubbling up, and taste of the famous
medicinal spring, which would cure the present evil of
heat, whatever effect it might have on any more
lasting ailment. It was just the day when Mrs.
Linacre must not be missed from her post, and when it
would be wrong to give up the earnings which she
might expect before sun-down. So she desired her
children not to leave the premises,—not even to go
out of their father’s sight and hearing; and left
them, secure, at least, that they would obey her
wishes.

They were quite willing-to do so. ‘Mildred looked
behind her, every few minutes, while she worked in



ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR 39

the garden, to see whether Roger was not there: and
at every rustle that the birds made among the trees
on the Red-hill,—the eminence behind the house,—
she fancied that some one was hidden there. Oliver
let his tools and his alabaster lie hidden, much as he
longed to be at work with them. Mildred had lost
her greatest treasure,—the white hen. He must take
care of his greatest treasure. Twice, in the course of
the morning, he went in, having thought o! a safer
place ; and twice more, he put them back among the
straw, as safest there, after all. He let them alone at
last, on Mildred saying that she was afraid Roger
might somehow discover why he went in and out so
often.

They ran to the mill three or four times to tell their
father that the brown tent was still under the bank in
the carr, and that they could see nobody ; though the
wild-ducks and geese made such a fluttering and noise,
now and then, that it seemed as if some one was lurk-
ing about the ponds. Often in the course of the morn-
ing, too, did Mr. Linacre look out of the mill window,
or nod to them from the top of the steps, that they
might see that he did not forget them.—Meantime, the
white smoke curled up from the kitchen chimney, as
Ailwin cooked the dinner ; and little George’s voice
and hers were often heard from within, as if they were
having some fun together.

The children were very hot, and began to say that
they were hungry, and thought dinner-time was near,
when they suddenly felt a strong rush of wind from
the west. Oliver lost his cap, anc was running after
it, when both heard a loud shout from their father, and
looked up. They had never heard him shent so loud



40 Siig SETTLERS AT HOME,

as he now did, bidding them run up the Red-hill that
moment. He waved his arm and his cap in that direc-
tion, as if he was mad. Mildred scampered up the
hill. She did not know why, nor what was the mean-
ing of the rolling, roaring thunder which seemed to
convulse the air: but her head was full of Roger ;
and she thought it was some mischief of his. One
part of the Red-hill was very steep, and the ground
soft. Her feet slipped on the moss first ; and when
she had got above the moss, the red earth crumbled ;
and she went back at every step, till she caught hold
of some brambles, and then of the trunk of a tree; so
that, trembling and panting, she reached at last the
top of the eminence.

When she looked round, she saw a rushing, roaring
river where the garden had been, just before. Rough
waters were dashing up against the hill on which she
stood,—against the house.—and against the mill. She
saw the flood spreading, as rapidly as the light at sun-
rise, over the whole expanse of the Levels. She saw
another flood bursting in from the Humber, on the
north-east, and meeting that which had just swept
by ;—-she saw the two floods swallowing up field
after field, meadow after meadow, splashing up against
every house, and surrounding all, so that the roofs,
and the stacks beside them, looked like so many little
islands. She saw these things in.a moment, but did not
heed them till afterwards,—for, where was Oliver ?

Oliver was safe, though it was rather a wonder that
he was so, considering his care for his cap. Oliver
was an orderly boy, accustomed to take great care of
his things ; and it did not occur to him to let his cap:
49, when he had to run for his life. He had to part



ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 41

with it, however. He was flying after it, when another
shout from his father made him look round ; and then
he saw the wall of water, as ne called it, rolling on
directly upon the house. He gave a prodigious spring
across the garden ditch, and up the hill-side, and but
just escaped ; for the wind which immediately pre-
ceded the flood blew him down ; and it was clinging
to the trunk of a tree that saved him, as his sister had
been saved just before. As it was, his feet were wet.
Oliver panted and trembled, like his sister ; but he
was safe.

Every one was safe. Ailwin appeared at an upper
window, exhibiting little George. Mr. Linacre stood,
with folded arms, in the doorway of his mill ; and his
wife was (he was thankful to remember) on the side
of a high hill, far away. The children and their father
knew, while the flood was roaring between them, what
all were thinking of; and at the same moment, the
miller and his boy waved, the one his hat, and the
other a green bough, high and joyously over their
heads. Little George saw this from the window, and
clapped his hands, and jumped, as Ailwin held him on
the window sill.

“Look at Geordie!” cried Mildred. “Do look at
him! Don’t you think you hear him now?”

This happy mood could not last very long, however,
as the waters, instead of going down, were evidently
rising every moment. From the first, the flood had
been too deep and rapid to allow of the miller cross-
ing from his mill to his house. He was a poor
swimmer ; and no swimmer, he thought, could have
avoided being carried away into the wide marsh, where
there was no help. Then, instead of the stream slack-



42 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

ening, it rushed more furiously as it rose,—rose first
over the wall of the yard, and up to the fourth—
fifth—sixth step of the mill ladder, and then almost
into the branches of the apple-trees in the garden.

“T hope you will not mind being hungry, Mildred,”
said her brother, after a time of silence. “ We arenot
likely to have any dinner to-day, I think.”

“TJ don’t mind that very much,” said Mildred, “but
how do you think we are to get away, with this great
river between us and home ?”

“We shall see what father does,” said Oliver. “He
is further off still, on the other side.”

“But what is all this water ? When will it go away?”

“T am afraid the embankments have burst. And
yet the weather has been fine enough lately. Perhaps
the sluices are broken up.”

Seeing that Mildred did not understand the more
for what he said, he explained—

“You know, all these Levels were watery grounds
once ; more wet than the carr yonder. Well,—great
clay banks were made to keep out the Humber waters,
over there, to the north-east, and on the west and
north-west yonder, to keep two or three rivers there
from overflowing the Jand. Then several canals and
ditches were cut, to drain the land ; and there are
great gates put up, here and there, to let the waters in
and out, as they are wanted. J am afraid those gates
are gone, or the clay banks broken down, so that the sea
and the rivers are pouring in all the water they have.”

“But when will it be over? Will it ever run off
again? Shall we ever get home again ?”

“T do not know anything about it. We must wait, and
watch what father will do. See! what is this coming ?”



ON WAY OF MAKING WAR. 43

« A dead horse!” exclaimed Mildred. *' irowned,
I suppose. Don’t you think so, Oliver ?”

“ Drowned, of course.—Do you know, Mildred,” he
continued, after a silence, during which he was looking
towards the sheds in the yard, while his sister’s eyes
were following the body of the horse as it was swept
along, now whirled round in an eddy, and now going
clear over the hedge into the carr,—“do you know,
Mildred,” said Oliver, “I think father will be com-
pletely ruined by this flood.” :

“Do you?” said Mildred, who did not quite know
what it was to be ruined. “How? Why?”

“Why, it was bad enough that so much gypsum was
spoiled yesterday. Iam afraid now the whole quarry
will be spoiled. And then I doubt whether the har-
vest will not be ruined all through the Levels: and
I am pretty sure nothing will be growing in the
garden when the waters are gone. That was not our
horse that went by; but ow horse may be drowned,
and the cow, and the sow, and everything.”

“Not the fowls,” said Mildred. “Look at them, all
in a row on the top of the cow-shed. They will not be
drowned, at any rate.”

“ But then they may be starved. O dear!” he con-
tinued, with a start of recollection, “I wonder whe-
ther Ailwin has thought of moving the meal and the
grain up-stairs. It will be all rotted and spoiled if
the water runs through it.”

He shouted, and made signs to Ailwin, with all his
might: but in vain. She could not hear a word he
said, or make anything of his signs. He was vexed,
and said Ailwin was always stupid.

““So she is,” replied Mildred ; “but it does not sig-



44 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

nify now. Look how the water is pouring out of the
parlour window. The mealand grain must have been
wet through long ago. Is not that a pretty water-
fall? A waterfall from our parlour. window, down
upon the tulip-bed! How very odd!”

“ Tf one could think how to feed these poor animals,”
said Oliver,—“ and the fowls! If there was anything
here that one could get for them! One might cuta
little grass for the cow ;—but there i is nothing else.”

“ Only the leaves: of the trees, and a few blackber-
ries, when they are ripe,” said Mildred, looking round
her, “and flowers,—wild-flowers, and a few that mo-

ther planted.”

“The bees! cried Oliver. “Let us save them.
They can feed themselves. We will save the bees.”

“Why, you don’t think they are drowned?” said
Mildred.

The bees were not drowned ; but they were in more
danger of it than Mildred supposed. Their little shed
was placed on the side of the Red-hill, so as to over-
look the flowery garden. The waters stood among the
posts of this shed; and the hives themselves shook
with every wave that rolled along.

“You cannot do it, Oliver,” cried Mildred, as her
brother crept down the slope to the back of the shed.
“You can never get round, Oliver. You will slip in,
Oliver !” .

Oliver looked round and nodded, as there was no
use in speaking in such a noise. He presently showed
that he did not mean to go round to the front of the
shed. That would never have done ; for the flood had
washed away the soil there, and left nothing to stand
upon. He broke away the boards at the back of the



ONE WAY Of MAKING WAL. 45

bee-shed, which were old and loosely fastened. He
was glad he had come; for tne bees were bustling
about in great confusion and distress, evidently aware
that something great was the matter. Oliver seized
one of the hives, with the board it stood on, and car-
ried it, as steadily as he could, to a sunny part of the
hill, where he put it down on the grass. He then
went for another, asking Mildred to come part of the
way down to receive the second hive, and put it by
the first, as he saw there was not a moment to lose.
She did so; but she trembled so much, that it was
probable she would have let the hive fall, if it had '
ever been in her hands. It never was, however. The
soil was now melting away in the water, where Oliver
had stood firmly but a few minutes before. He had
to take great care, and to change his footing every
instant; and it was not without slipping and slid-
ing, and wet feet, that he brought away the second
hive. Mildred saw how hot he was, as he sat resting,
with the hive, before climbing the bank, and begged
that he would not try any more.

“These poor becs !” exclaimed Oliver, beginning to
move again, on the thought of the bees being drowned.
But he had done all he could. The water boiled up
between the shed and the bank, lifted the whole struc-
ture, and swept it away. Oliver hastened to put down
the second hive beside the first; and when he re-
turned, saw that the posts had sunk, the boards were
floating away, and the remaining hive itself sailing
down the stream.

“ How it rocks!” cried Mildred. “I wish it would
turn quite over, so that the poor things might get
vut, and fly away,”



&& THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“They never will,” said Oliver. “TI wish I had
thought of the bees a little sooner. It is very odd iat
you did not, Mildred.” : |

“T don’t know how to think of anything,” said Mil-
dred, dolefully ; “it is all so odd and so frightful !”

“Well, don’t cry, if you can help it, dear,” said her
brother. “We shall see what father will do. He
wont cry ;—I am sure of that.”

Mildred laughed: for she never had seen her father
cry. |

“He was not far off crying yesterday, though,” said
Oliver, “when he saw your poor hen lying dead. He
looked but, O Mildred! what can have become of
the Redfurns? We have been thinking all this while
about the bees; and we never once remembered the
Redfurns. Why, their tent was scarcely bigger than
our hives ; and I am sure it could not stand a minute
against the flood.” )

While he spoke, Oliver was running to the part of
the hill which commanded the widest view of the
carr, and Mildred was following at his heels,—a good
deal startled by the hares which leaped across her
vath. There seemed to be more hares now on the hili
than she had seen in all her life before. She could not
ask about the hares, however, when she saw the brown
tent, or a piece of it, flapping about in the water, a
great way off, and sweeping along with the current.

“Hark! what was that? Did you hear?’ said
Oliver, turning very pale.

“T thought I heard a child crying, a great way off,
said Mildred, trembling. ,

“Tt was not a child, dear. It was a shriek,—a
woman’s shriek, I am afraid. Iam afraid it is Nan





ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 47

Redfurn, somewhere in the carr. O dear, if they
should all be drowned, and nobody there to help
them !”

“No no,—I don’t believe it,” said Mildred. “ They
have got up somewhere,—climbed up something,—
that bank or something.”

They heard nothing more, amidst the dash of the
flood, and they fancied they could see some figures
moving on the ridge of the hank, far out over the carr.
When they were tired of straining their eyes, they
looked about them, and saw, in a smoother piece of
water near their hill, a dog swimming, and seeming to
labour very much.

“Tt has got something fastened to it,” cried Mil-
dred ;—* something tied round its neck.”

“Tt is somebody swimming,” replied Oliver. “ They
will get safe here now. Cannot we help them? I
wish Thad arope! A long switch may do. I will get
a long switch.”

“Yes, cut a long switch,” cried Mildred: and she
pulled and tugged at a long tough thorny bramble, not
minding its pricking her fingers and tearing her frock.
She could not help starting at the immense number
of large birds that flew out, and rabbits that ran away
between her feet, while she was about it; but she
never left hold, and dragged the long bramble down
to the purt of the hill that the dog seemed to be
trying to reach. Oliver was already there, holding
a slip of ash, such as he had sometimes cut for a
fishing-rod.

“It is Roger, I do believe ; but I see nothing of the
others,” said he. “ Look at his head, as it bobs up and
down. Is it not Roger?”



48 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“O dear! I hope not!” cried Mildred, in a tone of
despair. “ What shall we do if he comes?”

“We must see that afterwards: we must save him
first. Now for it!”

As Oliver spoke, the dog ducked, and came up
again without Roger, swimming lightly to the bank,
and leaping ashore with a bark. Roger was there,
however,—very near, but, they supposed, exhausted,
for he seemed to fall back, and sink, on catching hold
of Oliver’s switch, and by the jerk twitched it out of
the boy’s hand.

“Try again !” shouted Oliver, as he laid Mildred’s
bramble along the water. “Don’t let go, Mildred.”

Mildred let the thorns run deep into her fingers
without leaving her hold. Roger grasped the other
end; and they pulled, without jerking, and with all
their strength, till he reached the bank, and they
could help him out with their hands.

“ Oh, I am so glad you are safe, Roger !” said Oliver.

“You might have found something better then that
thorny switch to throw me,” said Roger. “My hands
are all blood with the spikes.”

“Look at hers!” cried Oliver, intending to show
the state that his sister’s hands were in, for Roger’s
sake; but Mildred pulled away her hands, and hid
them behind her as she retreated, saying,

“No, no. Never mind that now.”

Oliver saw how drenched the poor boy looked, and
forgave whatever he might say. He asked Mildred to
go back to the place where they had been standing,
opposite the house ; and he would come to her there
presently. He then begged Roger to slip off his coat
and trousers, that they might wring the wet out of



ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 43

them. He thought they would soon dry in the sun.
But Roger pushed him away with his shoulder, and
sald he knew what he wanted ;—he wanted to see
what he had got about him. He would knock any-
body down who touched his pockets. It was plain
that Roger did not choose to be helped in any way ; s0
Oliver soon ran off, and joined Mildred, as he had
promised.

“T do not like to leave him, all wet, and so tired
that I could knock him over with my little finger,”
exclaimed Oliver. ‘“ But he wont trust me about any
thing.”

“ There is father again! Tell him,” cried Mildred.

Both children showvited that Roger was here, and
pointed behind them ; but it was plain that their father
could not make out a word they said, though they had
never called out so loud in their lives. Roger heard
them, however, as they judged by seeing him skulking
among the trees behind, watching what use they were
making of his name.

The children thought their father was growing very
anxious. He still waved his hat to them, now and
then, when he looked their way; but they saw him
gazing abroad, asif surprised that the rush of waters
did not abate. They observed him glance often round
the sky, as if for signs of wind; and they longed to
know whether he thought a wind would do good or
harm. They saw him bring out, for the third time, a
rope which he had seemed to think too short to be of
any use; and this appeared to be the case, now as
at first. Then he stooped down, as if to make a mark
on the side of the white door-post (for the water had
by this time quite hidden the steps); and Oliver

4



$0 THE SETTLERS AT Host,

thought this was to make out, for certain, whether te
flood was regularly rising or not. They could not
imagine why he examined so closely as they saw him.
do the door lintel, and the window-frame. It did not
occur to them, as it did to him, that the mill might
break down under the force of the current.

At last, it was clear that he saw Roger; and from
that moment, he scarcely took his eyes from his chil-
dren. Oliver put his arm round Mildred’s neck, and
said in her ear,

“I know what father is watching us for. He is
afraid that Stephen is here too, and no one to take
care of us ;—not even Ailwin.”

“Perhaps Stephen is here,—in the wood,” cried
Mildred, in terror. “I wish this water would make
haste, and run away, and let us get home.”

“Tt cannot run faster than it does. Look how the
waves dash along! That is the worst of it :—it shows
what a quantity there is, where this came from. But
I don’t believe Stephen is here. I have a good mind
to ask Roger, and make him tell me.”

“No, don’, Oliver ! Stephen may be drowned. Do
not put him in mind.”

“ Why, you see he does not care for anything, He
is teazing some live thing at this minute,—there, on
the ground.”

Oliver himself forgot everything but the live
animals before his eyes, when he saw how many there
were under the trees. The grass was swarming with
mice, moles, and small snakes; while rabbits cocked
up their little white tails, in all directions, and pavr-
tridges flew out of every bush, and hares started from
every hollow that the boy looked into.



x

CSE WAY OF MAKING Wat, t

“ All soaked cut of their holes ;—don’t know what
to do with themselves ;—fine sport for those that have
a mind to it,” said Roger, as he lay on the ground,
pulling back a little mouse by its long tail, as often as
it tried to run away.

“You. have no mind for sport to-day, I suppose,
Roger. I should not think anybody has.”

“T don’t know;—I’m rarely hungry,” said the boy.

“So were we; but we forgot it again. Father is in
the mill there . . .”

“ You need not tell me that. Don’t I see him?”

“But we think he is looking out for Stephen.”

“He wont find him,” said Roger, in a very low
voice ;—so low that Oliver was not sure what he said.

“ He is not here on the hill, then, Roger ?”

“On the hill—no! I don’t know where he is, nor
the woman either. I suppose they are drowned, as I
was, nearly. If they did not swim as I did, they must
be drowned: and they could hardly do that, as I had
the dog.”

The children looked at each other ; and their looks
told that they thought Roger was shocked and sorry,
though he tried not to appear so.

“There might have been a boat, perhaps, out on
the carr. Don’t you think the country people in the
hills would get out boats when they saw the flood
spreading ?”

“ Boats, no! The hill-people have not above three
boats among them all. There are about three near the
ponds ; and they are like nut-shells. How should any
boat live in such a flood as that? Why, that flood
would sweep a ship out to seain a minute. You neeg
net think about boats, I can tell you.”

42



52 TILE SETTLEKS AT HOME.

“ But wont anybody send a boat for us? mquired
Mildred, who had drawn near to listen. “If they
don’t send a boat, aud the flood goes on, what are we
todo? We can’t live here, with nothing to eat, and
no beds, and no shelter, if it should rain.”

“ Are you now beginning to cry about that? Are
you now beginning to find that out, after all this
time ?” said Roger, contemptuously.

“T thought we should get away,” sobbed the little
girl. “T thought a boat or something would come.”

“A pretty silly thing you must be!” exclaimed
Roger.

“If she is silly, I am sillv too,” declared Oliver.
“T am not sure that it is silly to look for a boat,
There are plenty out on the coast there.”

“They are all dashed to pieces long ago.” decided
Roger. “ And they that let in the flood will take
good care you don’t get out of it,—you, and your out-
landers. It is all along of you that I am in this
scrape. But it was shameful of them not to give us
notice ;—it was too bad to catch us in the same trap
with you. If uncle is drowned, and I ever get out
alive, I will be revenged on them.”

Mildred stopped erying, as well as she could, to
listen ; but she felt like Oliver when he said,—

“T don’t know a word of what you mean.”

“T dare say not. You foreigners never know any-
thing like other people.”

“ But wont you tell us? Who made this flood ?”

“To be sure, you wern’t meant to know this. It
would not have done to show you the way out of the
trap. Why—the Parliament Committee at Lincoln
ordered the Snow-sewer sluice to be pulled up to-day,



ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 53

to drown the king’s lands, and get rid of his
tenants. It will be as good as a battle gained to
them.”

The children were aghast at the wickedness of this
deed. They would not believe it. It would have
been tyrannical and cruel to have obliged the settlers,
who were not interested in a quarrel between the king
of England and his people, to enlist, and be shot down
in war. They would have complained of this as
tyrannical and cruel. But, when they were living in
peace and quiet on their farms, paying their rents,
and inclined to show good-will to everybody, to pull
up the flood-gates, and let in the sea and the rivers to
drown them because they lived in the king’s lands,
was a cruelty too dreadful to be believed. Oliver and
Mildred did not believe it. They were sure their
father would not believe it; and that their mother, if
ever she should return to her home and family, would
bring avery different account—that the whole mis-
fortune would turn out to be accidental. So they
felt assured : but the fact was as Roger had said. The
Snow-sewer sluice had been pulled up, by the orders
of the Committee of the Parliament, then sitting at
Lincoln : and it was done to destroy the king’s new
lands, and deprive him of the support of his tenants.
The jealous country-people round hoped also that it
would prevent foreigners from coming to live in Eng-
land, however much they might want such a refuge.

Some of the sufferers knew how their misfortune
happened. Others might be thankful that they did
not ; for the thought of the malice of their enemies
must have been more bitter than the fear of ruin and

death.



54 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

CHAPTER IV.
A HUNGRY DAY.

“We shall see what father does,” was still the conso-
lation with which Oliver kept down his sister’s fears.
He had such confidence in his father’s knowing what
was best to be done on all occasions, that he felt they
had only to watch him, and imitate whatever he
might attempt. They remained quiet on the island
now, hungry and tired as they were, because he re-
mained in the mill, and seemed to expect the water
to subside. The most fearful thought was what they
were to do after dark, if they should not get home
before that. They supposed, at last, that their father
was thinking of this too; for he began to move about,
when the sun was near setting, more than he had
done all the afternoon.

They saw him go carefully down into the stream,
and proceed cautiously for some way—till the water
was up to his chin. Then he was buffeted about so
terribly that Mildred could not bear to look. Both
Oliver and Roger were sure, by what he ventured,
and by the way he pulled himself back at last to the
steps, that he had tied himself by the rope thev had
seen him measure. It was certainly too short for any
good purpose ; for he had to go back, having only
wetted himself to the skin. They saw this by the
yellow light from the west which shone upon the
water. In a few minutes they could distinguish him
no longer, though the mill stood up black against the
sky, and in the midst of the gleaming flood.



A HUNGRY DAY. 55

“Father will be wet, and so cold all night!” said
Mildred, crying.

“Tf I could only swim,” exclaimed Oliver, “J
would get over to him somehow, and carry a rope
from the house. I am sure there must be a rope long
enough somewhere about the yard. If I could only
swim, I would get to him.”

“That you wouldn’t,” said Roger. “Your father
can swim ; and why does not he? Because nobody
could swim across that stream. It is a torrent. It
would carry any stout man out over the carr ; and you -
would be no better than a twig in the middle of it.”

“T am afraid now this torrent will not slacken,”
said Oliver, thoughtfully. “I am afraid there is some
hollow near which will keep up the current.”

«What do you mean by that?”

‘ They say in Holland, where they have floods
sometimes, that when water flows into a hollow, it gets
out in a current, and keeps it up for some way. . Oh!
the quarry!” he cried, with sudden recollection.
“ Mildred, let us go, and look what is doing on that
side before it is dark.”

They ran round the hill ; and there they saw indeed
that the flood was tumbling in the quarry, like water
boiling ina pot. When it rushed out, it carried white
2arth with it, which made a long streak in the flood,
and explained how it was that the stream between
the house and the mill was whiter and more muddy
than that between their hill and the house. At once
it occurred to Roger that the stream between the hill
and the house was probably less rapid than the other ;
and he said so. Oliver ran back ; and so did Mildred,
pleased at the bare idea of getting to the house.



- 66 THE SETTLERS A HOME.

Once more arrived opposite the house, they saw a
strange sight. The mill no longer stood in its right
place. It had moved a good way down towards
the carr. Not only that, but it was still moving. It
was sailing away like aship. After the first exclama-
tion, even Roger stood as still as death to watch it.
He neither moved nor spoke till the mill was out of
sight in the dusk. When Mildred burst into a loud
ery, and Oliver threw himself down, hiding his face
on the ground, Roger spoke again.

“Be quiet—you must,” he said, decidedly, to the
little girl. “We must bestir ourselves now, instead
of stopping to see what other folks will do.”

“Oh, father ! father will be drowned!” cried they.

“You don’t know that. If he drifts out to the
Humber, which is likely, by the way he is going, some
ship may pick him up—or he may light upon some
high ground. We can’t settle that now, however ; and
the clear thing is that he wouldn’t wish us to starve,
whether he drowns or not. Come, get up, lad!” said
he, stirring Oliver with his foot.

“Don't lie there, Oliver; do get up!” begged
Mildred.

Oliver rose, and did all that Roger bade him.

“You say there is a long rope somewhere about the
house,” said Roger. “ Where is it ?”

“There is one in the cowshed, I know.”

“And if I cannot get there, is there one in the
house ?”

“In the lumber-room,” said Mildred. “The spare
bed is tied round and round with a long rope—I don’t
know how long.”

“i wish we had set about it an hour ago,” muttered



A HUNGRY DAY. 57

Roger, “instead of waiting for dark. A pretty set
of fools we have been to lose the daylight! I say,
lad, can you think of any way of making a fire? Here
are sticks enough, if one could set them alight.”

“To cook a supper?” asked Mildred.

“No; I mean to sup within doors; only we must
do some work first.”

Oliver had a steel knife; but it was too dark to
look for a flint, if any other plan than a fire would
do.
“Well, don’t plague any more about a fire,” said
Roger, “but listen to me. Can you climb a tree?
Pll be bound you can’t: and now you'll die if you
can’t.”

“JT can,” said Oliver: “but what is Mildred to
do ?”

“We'll see that afterwards. Which of these trees
stands nearest to the nearest of yon upper windows ?”

Oliver and Mildred pointed out a young ash, which
now quite bent over the water.

“That is not strong enough,” said Roger, shaking
the tree, and nneang it loasenee at the roots. “Show
me a stouter one.’

A well-grown beech was the next nearest. Roger
pulled Oliver by the arm, and made him stand directly
under the tree, with his sister beside him. He desired
them not to move from where they were, and to give
a loud halloo together, or a shriek (or anything that
might be heard furthest)—about once in a minute for
an hour to come, unless they should hear a rope fall
into the meee or anywhere near them. They were to
watch for this rope, and use all their endeavours to
catch it. ‘here would be a weight at the end, which



58 THE SkYTRBERS AT HOMME.

would make it easier to catch. Oliver must tie this
rope to the trunk of the tree, stretching it tight, with
all his strength, and then tying it so securely that ne
weight would unfasten it.

“ Mind you that,” said Roger. “If you don’t, you
wi] be drowned, that’s all. Do as I tell you, and
you'll see what you will see.”

Roger then whistled for his dog, snatched Oliver's
black ribbon from about his neck, and fastened it
round the dog’s neck, to hold by. He then showed
the dog the house, and forced him into the water, him-
self following, till the children could no longer see
what became of them.

“What do you think he means?” asked poor Mil-
dred, shivering.

“YT don’t know exactly. He cannot mean that we
are to climb over by a rope. J do not think I could
do that ; and I am sure you could not.”

“Oh, no, no! Let us stay here! Stay with me
under the trees, here, Oliver.”

“Why, it would be much more comfortable to be
at home by the fire. You are shivering now, already,
as if it was winter: and the night will be very long,
with nothing to eat.”

“ But Roger is gone ; and I don’t like to be where he
is,—he is such a rude boy! How he snatched your
ribbon, and pulled you about! And he calls you ‘lad,’
when he might just as well say ‘ Oliver.’”

“We must not mind such things now, dear. And
we must get home, if he can show us how. Think
how glad Ailwin and George will be: and I am sure
father would wish it, and mother too. You must not
cry now, Mildred; indeed you must not. People



A HUNGRY DAY. 59

must do what they can at such a time as this. Come,
help me to shout. Shrieck as loud and as long as ever
you can.” |

“T wish I might say my prayers,” said Mildred,
presently.

“Do, dear. Kneel down here ;—nobody sees us,
Let us ask God to save father,—and us too, and George
and Ailwin, if it pleases Him :—and Roger.”

They kneeled down, and Oliver said aloud to God
what was in his heart. It was a great comfort to
them both ; for they knew that while no human eye
saw them in the starlight, under the tree, God heard
their words, and understood their hearts.

“Now again !” said Oliver, as they stood up.

They raised a cry about once a minute, as nearly ag
they could guess: and they had given as many as
thirty shouts, and began to find it very hard work, be-
fore anything happened to show them that it was of
any use. Then something struck the tree over their
heads, and pattered down among the leaves, touching
Oliver’s head at last. He felt about, and caught the
end of a rope, without having to climb the tree, to
searcu for it. They set up a shout of a different kind
nov; for they really were very glad. - This shout was
ayswered by a gentle tug at the rope: but Oliver held
fast, determined not to let anything pull the precious
line out of his hand.

“What have we here?” said he, as he felt a parcel
tied to the rope, a httle way from the end. He gave
it to Mildred to untie and open; which she did with
some trouble, wishing the evening was not so dark.

It was a tinder-box.

“There now!” said Oliver, “we shall soon know



60 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

what we are about. Do you know where the tree was
cut down, the other day ?”

“Close by? Yes.”

“Well; bring a lapful of chips,—quick : and then
any dry sticks you can find. We can get on twice as
fast with a light; and then they will see from the
house how we manage.”

In a few minutes, there was a fire blazing near the
tree. The rope must have come straight over from
the house, without dipping once into the water ; for
not only were the flint and steel safe, but the tinder
within, and the cloth that the box was done up in,
were quite dry. |

“Roger is a clever fellow,—that is certain,” said
Oliver. ‘“ Now for fastening the rope! Do you take
care that the fire keeps up. Don’t spare for chips.
Keep a good fire till I have done.”

Oliver gave all his strength to pulling the rope
tight, and winding it round the trunk of the beech,
just above a large knob in the stem. It seemed to
him that the rope stretched pretty evenly, as far as he
could see,—not slanting either up or down ; so that
the sill of the upper window must be about upon a
level with the great knob in the beech-trunk. Oliver
tied knot upon knot, till no more rope was left to knot.
It still hung too slack, if it was meant for a bridge.
He did not think he could ever cross the water on a
rope that would keep him dangling at every move:
but he had pulled it tight with all his force, and he
could do no more. When he had tied the last knot,
he and Mildred stood in front of the fire, and raised
one more great shout, waving their arms—sure now of
being seen as well as heard.



A UUNGRY bay. ? 61

“ Look ! look !” cried Oliver, “it is moving ;—the
rope is not so slack! They are tightening it. How
much tighter it is than I could pull it! That must be
Ailwin’s strong arm,—together with Roger’s.”

“But still I never can creep across that way,”
declared Mildred. “I wish you would not try, Oliver.
Do stay with me!”

“T will not leave you, dear: but we do not know
what they mean us to do yet. There! now the rope
is shaking! We shall see something. Do you see
anything coming? Don’t look at the flashing water.
Fix your eye on the rope, with the light upon it.
What do you see ?”

“T see something like a basket,—like one of our
clothes’ baskets,—coming along the line.”

It was one of Mrs. Linacre’s clothes’ baskets, which
was slung upon the rope ; and Roger was in it. He
did not stay a minute. He threw to Oliver a line
which was fastened to the end of the basket, with
which he might pull it over, from the window to the
tree, when emptied of Roger. He was then to put
Mildred into the basket, carefully keeping hold of the
line, in order to pull it back for himself when his
sister should be safely landed. Ailwin held a line
fastened to the other end of the basket, with which to
pull it the other way.

Oliver was overjoyed. He said he had never seen
anything so clever ; and he asked Mildred whether she
could possibly be afraid of riding over in this safe
little carriage. He told her how to help her passage
by pulling herself along the bridge-rope, as he called
it, instead of hindering her progress by clinging to the
rope as she sat in the basket. Taking care not to let





62 THE SETILERS AT HOME.

go the line for a moment, he again examined the knots
of the longer rope, and found they were all fast.—In
» few minutes. he began hauling in his line, and the ©
empty basket came over very easily.

“ How shall I get in?” asked Mildred, trembling.

“Here,” said Oliver, stooping his back to her.
“Climb upon my back. Now hold by the tree, and
stand upon my shoulders. Don’t be afraid. You are
light enough. Now, can’t you step in ?”

Feeling how much depended upon this, the little
girl managed it. She tumbled into the basket, took
a lesson from Oliver how to help her own passage, and
earnestly begged him to take care of his line, that
nothing might prevent his following her immediately.
Then came a great tug, and she felt herself drawn
back into the darkness. She did not like it at all.
_ The water roared louder than ever as she hung over it;
and the light which was cast upon it from the fire
showed how rapidly it was shooting beneath. Then
she saw Oliver go, and throw some more chips and
twigs on the fire ; and she knew by that that he could
see her no longer. She worked as hard as she could,
utting her hands one behind the other along the
rope: but her hands were weak, and her head was
very dizzy. She had had nothing to eat since break-
fast, and was quite tired out.

While still keeping her eyes upon Oliver, she felt
a jerk. The basket knocked against something ; and
it made her quite sick. She immediately heard Ail-
win’s voice saying, “’Tis one of them, that’s certain.
Well! if I didn’t think it was some vile conjuring
trick, wp to this very moment!”

The poor dizzy child felt a strong arm — round



A HUNGEY DAY. 63

her waist, and found herself carried near a fire in a
room. She faltered out, “ Ailwin, get something for
Oliver toeat. He will be here presently.”

“That I will: and for you first. . You shall both
_ have a drop of my cherry-brandy too.”

Mildred said she had rather havea draught of milk ;
but Ailwin said there was no milk. She had not
been able to reach the cow, to milk her. What had
poor little George done, then ?—He had had some
that had been left from the morning. Ailwin added
that she was very sorry,—she could not tell how she
came to be so forgetful ; but she had never thought of
not being able to milk the cow in the afternoon, and
had drunk up all that George left of the milk ; her
regular dinner having been drowned in the kitchen.
Neither had she remembered to bring anything eat-
able up-stairs with her, when the flood drove her from
the lower rooms. The flour and grain were now all
under water. The vegetables were, no doubt, swim-
ming about in the cellar ; and the meat would have
been where the flour was, at this moment, if Roger,
who said he had no mind to be starved, had not some-
how fished up a joint of mutton. This was now
stewing over the fire; but it was little likely to be
good ; for, besides there being no vegetables, the
salt was ali melted, and the water was none of the
best. Indeed, the water was so bad that it could not
be drunk alone: and again good Ailwin pressed a drop
of her cherry-brandy. Mildred, however, preferred a
eup of the broth, which, poor as it was, was all the
better for the loaf—ithe only loaf of bread—being
boiled in it. |

Just when Mildred thought’she could stand at the



64 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

window, and watch for Oliver, Oliver came in at the
window. He was not too tired to have his wits about
him, as Ailwin said ;—wits, she added, that were worth
more than hers. He had brought over some dry wood
with him,—as much as the basket would hold ; think-
ing that the peat-stack was probably all afloat, and the
wood-heap wetted through. All were pleased at the
prospect of keeping up a fire during this strange
night. All agreed that the bridge-rope must be left
as it was, while the flood lasted. There were wild
animals and birds enough on the Red-hill to iast for
food for a long while ; and there alone could they get
fuel.

“You can't catch game without my dog,” cried
Roger, surlily, to Ailwin ; “and my dog shan’t put
his nose to the ground, if you don’t feed him well:
and he shall be where I am,—mind you that.”

As he spoke, he opened the door to admit the dog,
which Ailwin had put out upon the stairs, for the sake
of her pet hen and chicks, which were all in the room.
The hen fluttered up to a beam below the ceiling, on
the appearance of the dog, and the chicks cluttered
about, till Ailwin and Mildred caught them, and kept
them in their laps. They glanced timidly at Roger,
remembering the fate of the white hen, the day before
Roger did not heed them. He had taken out h»
knife, forked up the mutton out of the kettle, and cu’
off the best half for himself and his dog.

Probably Oliver was thinking that Roger deserve
the best they could give him,-for his late services ; fe
he said,—

“T am sure, Roger, Mildred and I shall never ft:
get,—nor father and mother either, if ever they kn#',

29



A HUNGRY DAY. 65

it,—what you have done for us to-night. We might
have died on the Red-hill but for you.” .

“Stuff!” muttered Roger, as he sat, swinging
his legs, with his open knife in his hand, and hig
- mouth crammed,—“ Stuff! Asif I cared whether you
and she sink or swim! I like sport, that’s all.”

Nobody spoke. Ailwin helped the children to the
poor broth, and the remains of the meat, shaking
her head when they begged her to take some. She
whispered a good deal to Oliver about cherry-brandy ;
but he replied aloud that it looked and smelled very
good ; but that the only time he had tasted it, it made
him rather giddy ; and he did not wish to be giddy
to-night ;—there was so much to think about; and
he was not at all sure that the flood had got to its
height. He said no more, though his mind was full
of his father. Neither he nor Mildred could mention
their father to Ailwin to-night, even if Roger had
been out of the way.

Roger probably thought what Oliver did say very
silly ; for he sat laughing as he heard it, and for some
time after. Half an hour later, when Ailwin passed
near him, while she was laying down a bed for Oliver,
so that they might be all together during this night of
alarm, she thought there was a strong smell of
“brandy. She flew to her bottle, and found it empty,—
not a drop left. Roger had drained it all. His head
soon drooped upon his breast, and he fell from his chair
in a drunken sleep. Mildred shrank back from him
in horror ; but Ailwin and Oliver rolled him into a
corner of the room, where his dog lay down be-
side him.

Ailwin could not refrain from giving him a kick,

3



66 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

while he lay thus powerless, and sneering in his face
because he could not see her.

“Don't Ailwin,—don’t!” said Oliver. “Mildred
and I should not have been here now but for him.”

“ And I should not have been terrified out of my
wits, for these two hours past, nor have lost my cherry-
brandy, but for him. Mercy! I shall never forget his
popping up his face at that window, and sending his
dog in before him. I was as sure as death that the
flood was all of their making, and that they were come
or me, after having carried off my master, and as I
thought, you two.”

“Why, Ailwin, what nonsense!” cried Mildred from
her bed,—trembling all over as she spoke. “ How
could a boy make a flood?”

“ And you see what he has done, instead of carrying
as off,” observed Oliver.

“Well, it is almost worth my cherry-brandy to see
him lie so,—dead drunk,—only it would be better still
to see him really dead.—Well, that may be a wicked
thing to say ; but it is not so wicked as some things
he has done ;—and I am so mortally afraid of him !”

“YT wish you would say your prayers, Ailwin,
instead of saying such things: and then, perhaps, you
would find yourself not afraid of anybody.”

“Well, that is almost as good as if the pastor had
preached it. I will just hang up the chicks in the
hand-basket, for fear of the dog ; and then we will say
our prayers, and go to sleep, please God. JI am sure
we all want it.”

Oliver chose to examine first how high the water
stood in the lower rooms. He lighted a piece of
wood, and found that only two steps of the lower



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 67

flight of stairs remained dry. Ailwin protested so
earnestly that the waters had not risen for two or
three hours, that he thought they might all lie down to
sleep. Ailwin and he were the only ones who could
keep watch. He did not think Ailwin’s watching
would be worth much ; he was so tired that he did not
think he could keep awake ; and he felt that he should
be much more fit for all the business that lay before
him for the next day, if he could get a good rest now.
So he kissed little George, as he lay down beside him,
and was soon as sound asleep as all his companions.



CHAPTER V.
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS.

Aun the party slept for some hours, as quietly and
unconsciously as little George himself. If the children
were so weary that the dreadful uncertainty about
their father’s fate could not keep them awake, it is
probable that a knowledge of their own danger might
have failed to disturb them. But they had little
more idea than George himself of the extent of the
peril they were in. They did not know that the
Levels were surrounded by hills on every side but
towards the sea; or, if they knew, they did not con-
sider this, because the hills were a great way off. But,
whether they were far or near, this circle of hills was
the cause of the waters rising to a great height in
the Levels, when once the defences that had kept out
the sea and the rivers were broken down. As the
hills prevented the overflowing waters from running
off on three sides, it wes clear that the waters must

h—e2



6e& THE SETTLERS AT HoOMs.

rise to the level of the sea and the rivers from which
they flowed in. They had not reached this height
when the children lay down to rest, though Ailwin
was so sure that the worst was over; and the danger
increased as they slept; slept too soundly even to
dream of accidents.

The first disturbance was from the child. Oliver
became aware, through his sleep, that little George
was moving about, and laughing. Oliver mur-
mured, “ Be quiet, George. Lie still, dear,” and the
child was quiet for a minute. Presently, however,
he moved again, and something like a dabbling in
water was heard, while, at the same moment, Oliver
found his feet cold. He roused himself with a start,
felt that his bed was wet, and turning out, was up to
the ankles in water. By the light of the embers, he
saw that the floor was a pond, with some shoes floating
on it. His call woke Ailwin and Mildred at once.
Roger did not stir, though there was a good deal of
bustle and noise.

Mildred’s bed was so high above the floor as to be
still quite dry. Oliver told her to stay there till he
should settle what was to be done next: and he took
up the child to put him with Mildred, asking her to
strip off his drenched clothes, and keep him warm. All
the apparel that had been taken off was luckily on the
top of a chest, far above the water. Oliver handed
this to his sister, bidding her dress herself, as well as
the child. He then carefully put the fire together, to
make as much light as possible, and then told Ailwin
that they must bestir themselves, as the fire would
presently be drowned out.

Ailwin was quite ready to bestir herself; but she



SUNRISE OVER PHE LEVELS. 69

hed no idea beyond mounting on chests, chairs, and
drawers ; unless, indeed, she thought of the beam
which crossed the ceiling, to which she was seen to cast
her eyes, as if envying the chicks which hung there, or
the hen which still slept, with her head beneath her
wing, out of present reach of the flood.

Oliver disapproved of the plan of mounting on the
furniture of the room. It might be all very well, he
said, if there were nothing better to be done. But, by
the time the water would reach the top of the chests,
it would be impossible to get out by the door. He
thought it would be wisest to reach the roof of the
house while they could, and to carry with them all the
comforts they could collect, while they might be re-
moved in a dry condition. Ailwin agreed, and was
going to throw open the door, when Oliver stopped her
hand.

“Why, Oliver,” she cried, “you wont let one do
anything ; and you say, all the time, that there is not
a minute to be lost.”

Oliver showed her that water was streaming in at
the sides of the door, a good way higher up than it
stood on the floor. He said that the door was a de-
fence at present,—that the water was higher on the
stairs than in the room, and that there would be a
great rush as soon as the door should be opened. He
wished, therefore, that the bedding, and the clothes
from the drawers, and all else that they could remove
to the top of the house, should be bundled up, and
placed on the highest chest of drawers, before the
water should be let in. They must borrow the line
from the clothes’ basket, to tie round George’s waist,
that they might not lose him in the confusion. One



79 THE SETTLERS AT HOM.

uther thing must be done: they must rouse Roger,
or he might be drowned.

Ailwin was anxious that this last piece of duty
should be omitted :—not that she exactly wished that
Roger should be drowned,—at least, not through her
means ; but she, ignorant as she was,—had a supersti-
tious feeling that Roger and his family had caused
this flood, and that he could save himself well enough,
though he appeared to be sunk in a drunken sleep.
She indulged Oliver, however, so far as to help him to
seize the lad, neck and heels, and lay him, dripping as
he was, upon the table.

Before the bedding and clothes were all tied up, the
door of the room shook so as to threaten to burst in,
from the latch giving way. It struck everybody that
the person who should open it would run great risk of
being suffocated, or terribly knocked about; and yet,
it was hardly wise to wait for its bursting. Oliver
therefore tied a string to the knob of the bolt, then
slipped the bolt, to keep the door fastened while he
lifted and tied up the latch. The weor shook more
and more; so, having set the window wide open, he
made haste to scramble up to where Mildred was, wound
the cord which was about George’s waist round his
own arm, bade Mildred hold the child fast, and gave
notice that he was going to open the door. It was a
strange party, as the boy could not help noting at
the moment,—the maid standing on the bed, hugging
the bedpost, and staring with frightened eyes; Roger
snoring on the table, just under the sleeping hen on
the beam ; and the three children perched on the top
ofa high chest of drawers. George took it all for play,
-~—the new sash he had on and the bolting the door,



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. es
and the climbing and scrambling. He laughed and
kicked so that his sister could scarcely hold him.

“Now for it!” cried Oliver.

“Oh, Oliver, stop a minute !” cried Ailwin. “Don’t
be in such a hurry to drown us all, Oliver. Stcpa
moment, Oliver.”

Oliver knew, however, that the way to drown them
all was to stop. At the first pull the bolt gave way,
the door burst open, as if it would break from its
hinges, and a great body of water dashed in. The
first thing the wave did was to wash Roger off the
table ; the next, to put out the fire with a fizz,—so
that there was no other light but the dawn, now ad-
vancing. ‘The waters next dashed up against the wall
opposite the door ; and then by the rebound, with less
force, against the drawers on which the children sat.
It then leaped out of the window, leaving a troubled
surface at about half the height of the room. Above
the noise, Ailwin was heard lamenting, the chicks
cluttering, the hen fluttering, and George laughing
and clapping his hands.

‘You have George safe?” said Oliver. “ Very
well! I believe we can all get out. There is Roger’s
head above water; and [ don’t think it is more than
up to my neck; though everybody laughs at me for
being a short boy.” .

He stepped down upon a chair, and then cautiously
into the water. Jt was very nearly up to his chin,

“That will do,” said he, cheerfully. “ Now, Ailwin,
you are the tallest ;—-please carry George out on the
roof-of the house, and stay there with him till I
come.”

Ailwin made many lamentations at having to step



72 GUL SEVPLERS AT Hom».

down into the water; but she took gooc care of the
child, carrying him quite high and dry. Oliver fol-
lowed, to see that he was tied securely to the balus-
trade on the roof. While he was doing this, Ailwin
brought Mildred in the same way. Mildred wanted to
be of use below; but her brother told her the best
thing she could do was to watch and amuse George,
and to stand ready to receive the things saved from
the chambers,—she not being tall enough to do any
service in four feet of water.

It was a strange forlorn feeling to Mildred,—the
being left on the house-top in the cold grey morning,
at an hour when she had always hitherto been asleep
in bed. The world itself, as she looked round her,
seemed unlike the one she had hitherto lived in. The
stars were in the sky: but they were dim,—fading
before the light of morning. There were no fields, no
gardens, no roads to be seen ;—only grey water, far
away on every side. She could see nothing beyond
this grey water, except towards the east, where a
line of low hills stood between her and the brighten-
ing sky. Poor Mildred felt dizzy, with so mucl. |
moving water before her eyes, and in her ears the >
sound of the current below. The house shook and
trembled, too, under the force of the flood: so that she
was glad to fix her sight on the steady line of the dis-
tant hills. She spoke to George occasionally, to keep
him quiet ; and she was ready to receive every article
that was handed up the stairs from below: but, in all
the intervals, she fixed her eyes on the distant hills,
She thought how easy it would be to reach that ridge,
if she were a bird ; and how hard it would be to pine
away on this house-top, or to sink to death in these



ZUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 73

waters, for want of the wings which inferior creatures
had. Then she thought of superior creatures that
had wings too: and she longed to be an angel. She
longed to be out of all this trouble and fear; and
considered that it would be worth while to be drowned,
to be as free as a bird or an angel. She resolved
to remember this, and not to be frightened, if the
water should rise and rise, till it should sweep her
quite away. She thought that this might have be-
fallen her mother yesterday. No boat had been seen
on the waters in the direction of Gainsborough ; no
sign had reached the family that any one was think-
ing of them at a distance, and trying to save them:
and Oliverand Mildred had agreed that it was likely
that Mrs. Linacre had heard some report of the pull-
ing up of the sluices, and might have been on her
way home when the flood overtook and drowned her.
If so, she might be now an angel. If an angel, Mil-
dred was sure her first thought would be, as it had
ever been, of her home and her children ; and the little
girl looked up to see whether there was anything like
the shadow of wings between her and the dim stars.
She saw nothing ; but still, in some kind of hope, she
softly breathed the words, “O, mother! mother !”

“ Mother! mother!” shouted little George, as he
overheard her. |

Oliver leaped up the stairs, and inquired whether
there was a boat,—whether mother was coming.

“No, Oliver, no. I was only thinking about mo-
ther; and so, I suppose, was George. I am afraid
you are disappointed ;—TI am sorry.”

Oliver bit his lip to prevent crying, and could not
speak directly ; but seemed to be gazing carefully all



V4 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

around the waste. He said, at last, that he had many
times thought that his mother might come in a boat:
and he thought she might still, unless... .

“Unless she should be an angel now,” whispered
Mildred,—“unless she died yesterday ; and then she
might be with us now, at this very moment, though
we cannot see her ;—might not she ?”

“Yes, I believe so, dear. And, for one thing, I
almost wish she may not come in a boat. Who should
tell her that father was carried away into all those
waters, without having spoken one word to us?”

“If they are both dead, do you not think they are
together now?” asked Mildred.

“Certainly. Pastor Dendel says that all who love
one another well enough will live together, where they
will never die any more.”

“ And Iam sure they did,” said Mildred.

“Tf they see us now,” said Oliver, “it must make a
great difference to them whether we are frightened and
miserable, or whether we behave as we ougl* to do.
Let us try not to be frightened, for their sakexy, dear.”

““ And if they are not with us all the while, God is,”
whispered Mildred.

“QO, yes; but God knows .... God will not ex-
pect”

“Surely He will feel in some way as they do about
us,” said Mildred, remembering and repeating the verse
Pastor Dendel had taught her. “‘Like as a father
pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear
hint.’”

“¢ For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth
that we are dust.’” So Oliver continued the psalm.

“There comes the sun!” exclaimed Mildred, happy



SUNRISE OVER THE. LEVELS. W5

to greet some one familiar object amidst this strange
scene.

The scene hardly appeared the same when the sun,
after first peeping above the hills like a golden star,
flamed up to its full size, and cast a broad glittering
light over the wide waters, and into the very eyes of
the children. They felt the warmth too, immediately ;
and it wav very cheering. The eastern hills now
almost disappeared in the sun’s blaze; and those tc
the west shone very clearly ; and the southern ridge
near Gainsborough, looked really but a little way off.
The children knew, however, that there were three
full miles between them and any land, except then
Red-hill, and a few hillocks which peeped above the
flood in the Levels: and there was no sign of a boat,
far or near. Oliver checked a sigh, when he had con-
vinced himself of this; and began to look what had
become of the people they knew in the Levels.

Neighbour Gool’s dwelling stood low ; and nothing
was now to be seen of it but a dark speck, which might
be the top of a chimney. It was possible that the
whole family might have escaped; for Gool and his
wife were to be at Haxey yesterday ; and they might
there hear of the mischief intended or done to the
sluices, in time to save the rest of the household.
Some of the roofs of the hamlet of Sandtoft stood
above the waters; and the whole upper part of the
chapel used by the foreigners ; and many might easily
have found a refuge there. Further off, a conspicuous
object was the elegant crocketed spire of one of the
beautiful Lincolishire churches, standing high, as if
inviting those who were dismayed to come and save
themselves in the air from the dangers of the waters,



fas) THE SEYTLERS AT HOME,

Oliver wondered whether any sufferers were now
watching the sunrise from the long ridge of the
church-roof, or from the windows of the spire.

One of the most curious sights was the fleets of
haystacks that were sailing along in the courses of the
currents. As the smaller stacks were sometimes shot
forward rapidly, and whirled round by an eddy, while
a large stately stack followed forwards, performing the
same turns of the voyage, Mildred compared them to
a duck and her ducklings in the pond, and Oliver to a
great ship voyaging with a fleet of small craft. They
saw sights far more sorrowful than this. ‘They grieved
over the fine large trees—some in full leaf—that they
saw tumbling about in the torrents which cut through
the stiller waters ; but it was yet worse to see dead
cows, horses, pigs, and sheep carried past—some directly
through the garden, or over the spot where the mill
had stood. There were also thatched roofs carried
away entire ; and many a chest, chair, and cow-rack
—-showing the destruction that had gone on during
the night. While the distan* scene was all bright and
lovely in the sunrise, these nearer objects, thickly
strewn in the muddy waters, were ugly and dismal ;
and Oliver saw that it did him and his sister no good
to watch them. He started, and said they must not
be idle any longer.

Just then Ailwin called from the stairs,

“Tsay, Oliver, the cow is alive. I heard her low,
I’m certain.”

“T am afraid it was only George,” said Mildred.
“He was lowing like the cow, a minute ago.”

“That might be because he heard the real cow,”
cried Oliver, with new hope. “I had rather save the



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELA. Gi

cow than anything. I will see if I cannot get into
one of the upper rooms that looks towards the yard.
We might have a bridge-rope from more windows
than one. Where is Roger? What is he fit for? Is
he awake 2?” |

“ Awake! yes, indeed,” whispered Ailwin, coming
close up to the children. “There is more mischief
about that boy than you think for. He is now on the
stairs, with more mice, and rats, and spiders, and
creeping things about him than I ever saw before in
all my days. We are like to be devoured as we stand
on our feet ; to say nothing of what is to become of us
if we lie down.”

Mildred looked at her brother in great terror.

“We must get rid of them, if they really do us
hurt,” said Oliver, decidedly, though with an anxious
look. “We must drown them, if they are mischievous.
We can do that, you know—at least with the larger
things. They cannot get away from us.”

“Drown away !” said Ailwin, mysteriously. “Drown
away! The more you drown the more will come up.
Why, did you never hear of the plagues of Egypt ?”

“Yes, to be sure. What then?”

“T take this to bea plague of Egypt that that boy
has brought upon us. It is his doing ; and you will
see that, if you will just look down from where I stand,
and watch him making friends with them all.”

Mildred’s eyes were on her brother’s face as he stood
where Ailwin desired him, watching Roger. After
looking very thoughtful for some moments, he turned
and exclaimed,—

“There is not one word of sense in it all, Mildred
There is a wonderful number of live things there, to be



*

45 GilE SETTLERS AT HOME.

fe

sure ; and here, too, all over the roof—if you look.
But Roger is not making friends with them. He is
teazing them—hurting all he can get holdof I think
the creatures have come up here because the water
has driven them out of their holes ; and that there would
have been quite as many if Roger had been drowned
in the carr. They have nothing to do with Roger,
or the plagues of Eeypt, Mildred. Don’t believe a
word of it.”

“Then I wish Ailwin would not say such things,”
replied Mildred.

Ailwin persisted that time would show what Roger
was—to which they all agreed. Oliver observed that
meanwhile Ailwin, who was the oldest person among
them, should not try to frighten a little girl, who was
the youngest of all, except George. Ailwin said she
should keep her own thoughts ; though, to be sure,
she need not always say what they were to everybody.

“ About this cow,” thought Oliver aloud. “ We
must plan some way to feed her.”

“Take care!” exclaimed Mildred, as he began to
descend the stairs. But the words were scarcely out
of her mouth when her brother called to her that the
water had sunk. She ran to see, and saw, with her
own eyes, that the water did not quite come up to the
wet mark it had left on the wall of the stairs. Ailwin
thought but little of it—it was such a trifle; and
Oliver allowed that it might be a mere accident,
arising from the flood having found some new vent
about the house ; but still, the water had sunk; and
that was a sight full of hope.

“ Have you heard the cow low, Roger?’ asked
Oliver.



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 13

“Yes, to be sure. She may well low; for she must
be hungry enough.”

“ And wet and cold enough, too, poor thing! Iam
going to see whether I can find out exactly where she
is, and whether we cannot do something for her.”

Ailwin called down stairs to Oliver, to say that
there was a washtub floating about in the room they
had slept in. If he could find it, he might row him-
self about in that, in the chambers, instead of always
wading in the water, catching his death of cold.

Oliver took the hint, and presently appeared in the
tub, rowing himself with a slip of the wood he had
brought over from the Red-hill. Roger stared at him
as he rowed himself out of one chamber, and opened
the door of another, entering it in fine style. Roger
presently followed to see what was doing, and perhaps
to try how he liked a voyage in a tub in a large
‘chamber.

“T see her,” cried Oliver, from the window. “I
see poor cow’s head, and the ridge of her back above
water.” )

Roger came splashing to the window to look, and
jumped into the tub, making it sink a good deal ; but
it held both the boys very well. Roger thought the
cow very stupid that she did not get upon the great
dunghill behind her, which would keep her whole
body out of the water. Oliver thought that, as the
dunghill was behind her, she could not see it. He
wished he could go, and put her in mind of it. He
thought he would try to cross in the tub, if he could
so connect it with the window as that it might be
drawn back, in case of his being unable to pass the
little current that there was between the house and



SU THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

the ruins of the yard-buildings—of which little re-
mained.

“Tl go, too,” said Roger.

“ Hither you will go, or I,” said Oliver. “One must
stay to manage the rope, in case of the tub upsetting.
You had better let me go, Roger, because poor cow |
knows me.”

Roger, however, chose to go. Oliver asked him
whether he could milk a cow; because some milk
must be got for George, if possible. He said, very
gravely, that his poor little brother would die, he
thought, if they could not get milk for him.

Roger laughed at the doubt whether he could milk
cows. He did it every day of his life, when fishing
and fowling, with his uncle, in the carr. Oliver
now guessed how it was that the milk of their good
cow had sometimes unaccountably run short. Ailwin
had observed that this never happened but when the
Redfurns were in the neighbourhood ; and she had
always insisted upon it that they had bewitched the
cow. Oliver knew that she would say sonow. He
said so much, and said it so seriously, about the neces-
sity of milk for little George, that he thought not even
a Redfurn could have the heart to drink up all the
milk. He gave Roger a brown pitcher for the milk,
and helped, very cleverly, to fasten the cord to the
tub. They passed the cord through the back of a
heavy old-fashioned chair that stood in the room, lest
any sudden pull should throw Oliver out of the win-
dow ; he then established himself on the window-sill,
above the water, to manage his line, and watch what
Roger would do.

Roger pulled very skilfully ;—much more so, frv:a



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 8]

his strength and from practice, than Oliver could have
done. He avoided logs of wood, trees, and other heavy
things that floated past; and this was nearly all he
did till the line had quite run out, so that he could
not be carried any further down. Then he began dil-
gently working his way up towards the cow. He had
got half way to his object, when he paused a moment,
and then changed his course—to Oliver’s surprise ; for
the thing which appeared to have attracted his atten-
tion was a small copper boiler. Plenty of such things
swept past before, and nobody had thought of wanting
them. It was plain, however, that Roger had a fancy
for this particular copper boiler ; for he carefully way-
laid it, and arrested it with his paddle. Oliver then
saw that some live animal leaped from the boiler into
the tub. He saw Roger seize the boiler, and take it
into the tub ; catch up the animal, whatever it might
be, and nurse it in his arms ; and then take something
out of his pocket, and stoop down. Oliver was pretty
sure he was killing something with his knife.

Whatever Roger was doing, he had soon done. By
this time he had again been carried down as far as the
line would allow; and the additional weight he had
now on board his tub made it harder work for him to
paddle up again. He did it, however, and brought
his odd little boat into still water, between the dung-
hill and the cow. After looking about him for a while,
he threw out the boiler and the pitcher upon the dung-
hill, seized a pitchfork which was stuck upright in it,
and, his craft being thus lightened, made for the ruins
of the cart-shed and stable.

Of these buildings there remained only wrecks of
the walls, and a few beams amd cu®ers standing up in

6







88 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

the air, or lying across each other, without any thatch
to cover them. Something must be left inside, how-
ever ; for Roger was busy with his pitchfork. This
something must be valuable, too; for Roger, after
carefully feeling the depth, jumped out of the tub,
and went on filling it, while he stood in the water.
Oliver thought this very daring, till, glancing at the
cow, he was sure he saw more of her neck and back ;
and, examining the wall of the house, he perceived
that the flood had sunk some inches since Roger he-
gan to Cross.

When the tub was heaped up with what looked like
wet straw, Roger pushed it before him towards the
cow, carefully feeling his way, but never sinking so
much as to have the water above his shoulders.

“Capital! Now that is clever!” said Oliver aloud,
as he sat at the window, and saw what Roger was
about. “He is going to lift her up out of the water.
How she struggles to help herself! She knows there
is somebody caring for her ; and she will do what she
can for herself.”

This was true. Roger thrust the straw he had
brought under the cow, with his pitchfork. He had
to bring three loads before she could raise her whole |
body ; but then she stood, poor thing! with only her
trembling legs in the water. Roger turned her head
so that she saw the dunghill just behind her, and with
some encouragement, made one more vigorous scramble
to reach it. She succeeded; and Roger whipped up
the pitcher, and was certainly trying to milk her. She
could not, however, be prevented from lying down.
Oliver was more angry than he had almost ever been
in his life, when he saw Roger kick her repeatedly, in



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 83

different parts of her body, pull her by the tail, and
haul up her head with a rope he had found in the
stable. The poor cow never attempted to rise ; and
it was clear that she wanted comfort, and not ill-usage,
Oliver determined that, when Roger came back, he
would not speak a word to him.

Roger set about returning presently, when he
found that nothing could be got from the cow. He
took his boiler on board, and pulled himself in by the
line, without troubling himself to paddle.

When he came in at the window, he threw down
the pitcher, swearing at himself for the trouble he had
taken about a good-for-nothing beast that had been
standing starving in the water till she had not a drop
of milk to give. He looked at Oliver, as if rather
surprised that he did not speak; but Oliver took no
notice of him.

Tt was a hare that Roger had in his boiler,—a hare
that had, no doubt, leaped into the boiler when pressed
by a still more urgent danger than sailing down the
stream in such a boat. Roger had cut her throat
with his pocket-knife ; and there she lay in her own
blood.

“Don’t you touch that,” said Roger, as he landed
his booty upon the window-sill. “If you lay a finger
on that, it will be the worse for you. They are mine,
—both puss and the boiler.”

Still Oliver did not speak. He wondered what
Roger meant to do with these things, if nobody else
v338 to touch them.

Roger soon made it clear what his intentions were.
He whistled to his dog, which scampered down stair
tc him from the top of the house ; put dog, puss, anc

6—3



84 TUE SETTLERS AT HOSE,

boiler into the clothes’ basket, and pulled himself over
with them to the Red-hill, taking care to carry the
tinder-box with him. There he made a fire, skinned
and cooked his hare, and, with his dog, made a feast
of it, under a tree.

Nobody grudged him his feast ; though the children
were sorry to find that any one could be so selfish.
Ailwin was glad to be rid of him, on any terms ; and,
as soon as Oliver was sure that he was occupied for
some time to come, so that he would not be returning
to make mischief, he resolved to go over to the cow,
and give her something better than kicks ;—.0od, if,
as he thought, he could procure some. Saying nothing
to any one, he tied the tub-line to a bed-post, as being
more trustworthy still than the heavy chair, and car-
ried with him the great knife that the meat had been
cut with the evening before. He made for the stable
first, and joined the rope he knew to be there to his
line, so as to make it twice the length it was before.
He could now reach the field behind the stable, where
the corn, just turning from green to yellow, had been
standing high at this hour yesterday. He had to
paddle very carefully here, lest his tub should be
knocked to pieces against the stone wall. But the
wall, though not altogether thrown down, had so many
breaches made in it, that he found himself in the field,
without exactly knowing whether he had come through
the gate-posts or through the wall. He lost no time
in digging with his paddle ; and, as he had hoped, he
turned up ears of corn from under the water, which
he could catch hold of, a handful at a time, and cut
off with his knife. It was very tiresome, slow work ;
and sometimes he was near losing his paddle, and



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. &5

sometimes his knife. He persevered, however : now
resting for a minute or two, and then eating a few of
the ears, and thinking that only very hungry people
could swallow them, soaked as they were with bad
water. He ate more than he would have done, re-
membering that the more he took now, the less he
should want of the portion he meant to carry to the
house, when he should have fed the cow. He hoped
they should obtain some better food ; but, if no flour
was to be had, and no other vegetable than this, it
would be better than none.

When he reached the cow, she devoured the heads of
corn ravenously. She could not have appeared better
satisfied with the sweetest spring grass. It was a plea-
sure to see her eyes as she lay, receiving her food from
Oliver’s hand. He emptied out all he had brought be-
side her, and patted her, saying he hoped she would
give George some milk in the afternoon, in return for
what had been done for her now.

Oliver felt so tired and weak when he got home with
his tub half-full of soaked corn ears, that he felt as if
he could not do anything more. He was very near
crying when he found that there was not a morsel to
eat ; that the very water was too bad to drink; and
that there was no fire, from Roger having carried off
the tinder-box. But George was crying with hunger ;
and that made Oliver ashamed to do the same, and
put him upon thinking what was to be done next.

Ailwin was the only person who, being as strong as
Roger, could have got anything from him by force ;
and there was no use in asking Ailwin to cross the
bridge-rope, or to do anything which would bring her
nearer to the boy she feared so much. Besides that,



86 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

Roger had carried over the clothes’ basket, without
leaving any line to pull it back by. Oliver felt that
he (if he were only a little less hungry and tired)
could make the trip in a sack, or a tub, or evena
kettle ; but a tall woman like Ailwin could cross in
nothing smailer than the missing clothes’ basket. It
was clear that Oliver alone could go ; and that he must
go for the tinder-box before any comfort was to be
had.

He made up his mind to this, therefore ; and having,
with Ailwin’s help, slung the useful tub upon the
bridge-rope, so that he might start the first moment
that Roger should be out of sight or asleep, he rested
himself in the window, watching what passed on the
Red-hill. He observed that Roger seemed quite secure
that no one could follow him, as he had carried off
the basket. There he lay, near the fire, eating the
meat he had broiled, and playing with his dog. It
seemed to the hungry watchers as if he meant to lie
there all day. After awhile, however, he rose, and
sauntered towards the trees, among which he disap-
peared, as if going to the other side of the hill, to play,
or to set his dog upon game.

Oliver was off, sliding along the bridge-rope in his
tub. He did not forget to carry the line with which
to bring back the basket. It seemed to him that
Roger intended to live by himself on the Red-hill ;
and to this none of the party had any objection. He
had swum over to the house once, when the stream was
higher and more rapid than now ; and he could come
again, if he teund himself really in want of anything ;
so that nobody need be anxious for him. Meantime,
no one at the house desired his company. Oliver



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. ST

therefore took with him a blanket and a rug, and a
knife and fork for his accommodation.

He alighted under the beech without difficulty, and
laid down the articles he brouglt under the tree,
where Roger would be sure to see them. He took the
flint and the tinder from the tinder-box, and pocketed
them, leaving the steel and the box for Roger’s use, as
there were knives at home, and Roger might perhaps
find a flint on the hill. There were plenty in the
quarry. Oliver knew he must be quick ; but he could
not help looking round for something to eat,—some
one of the many animals and birds that he knew to be
on the hill, and heard moving about him on every side.
But he had no means of catching any. The bones of
’ the hare were lying about, picked quite clean by the
dog; but not a morsel of meat was left in sight.

Something ‘very precious, however, caught Oliver's
eye ;—a great heap of pebbly gravel thrown up by the
flood. The water in the Levels was usually so bad
that the settlers had to filter it; and Oliver knew that
no water was purer than that which had been filtered
through gravel. He believed now that poor George
could have a good drink of water, at least; and he
scooped up with his hands enough gravel to half fill the
tub. It took a long time to heap up as much as he

could carry upon the rug; and then it was hard work
to empty it into the teb ; and he fancied every moment
that he heard Roger coming. It was a pity he did
not know that Roger had fallen fast asleep in the sun,
on the other side of the hill; and that his dog lay
winking beside him, not thinking of stirring.

One thing more must be had ;—chips for fuel.
When Oliver had got enough of these, and of sticks



8&8 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

too, he found courage and strength to stay a few
minutes more, to make up such a fire for Roger as
would probably last till after he should have discovered
the loss of the flint, and so prevent his being without
fire till he could find another flint. In order to give
him a broad hint, Oliver spread out the blanket on
the ground, and set the tinder-box in the middle of
it, where it would be sure to invite attention. He
then climbed into the tub, and was glad to be off,
drawing the basket with the firewood after him.

“Here, Ailwin,” said he, faintly, as he reached the
window, “take the flint and the tinder, and the wood
in the basket, and make a fire. I have brought you
nothing to eat.”

“No need!” said Ailwin, with an uncommonly ‘
merry countenance.

“You must broil the green corn, unless we can
manage to get a fowl from across the yard. But I
really cannot go any more errands till I am rested,”
said Oliver, dismally.

“ No need, Oliver, dear !” said Ailwin again.

“What do you think we have found to eat?” cried
Mildred, from the stairs.—“ What is the matter with
him, Ailwin? Why does not he speak?”

“ He is so tired, he does not know what to do,” said
Ailwin. “No, don’t get down into the water again,
dear. Ili carry you. Put your arm round: my neck,
and I'll carry you.”

And the good-natured woman carried him up to
the roof, and laid him down on a bundle of bedding
there, promising to bring him breakfast presently.
She threw an apron over his head, to cover it trom the



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 89

hot sun, and bade him lie still, and not think of any-
thing till she came.

“Only one thing,” said Oliver. “Take particular
care of the gravel in the tub.” :

“Gravel!” exclaimed Ailwin. “The fowls eat
gravel ; but I don’t see that we can. However, you
shall have your way, Oliver.”

The tired boy was asleep in a moment. He knew
nothing more till he felt vexed at somebody’s trying to
wake him. It was Mildred. He heard her say,—

“ How very sound asleep he is! I can’t make him
stir. Here, Oliver,—just eat this, and then you can
— go to sleep again directly.”

He tried to rouse himself, and sat up ; but his eyes
were so dim, and the light so dazzling, that he could
not see, at first, what Mildred had in her hands. It
was one of her mother’s best china plates,—one of the
set that was kept in a closet upstairs ; and upon it was
a nice brown toasted fish, steaming hot.

“Ts that for me?” asked Oliver, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, indeed, for who but you?” said Ailwin,
whose smiling face popped up from the stairs. “Who
deserves it, if you do not, I should like to know? It
is not so good as I could have wished, though, Oliver.
I could not broil it, for want of butter and everything ;
and we have no salt, you know. But, come! eat it,
such as itis. Come, begin !”

“ But have you all got some too?” asked the hungry
boy, as he eyed the fish.

“Oh, yes,—George and all,” said Mildred. “We
ate ours first, because you were so sound asleep, we did
not like to wake you.”



90 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“ How long have I been asleep?” asked Oliver,
beginning heartily upon his fish. “How could you
get this nice fish? How busy you must have been all
this time that I have been asleep !”

“ All this time!” exclaimed Mildred. “Why, you
have been asleep only half an hour; hardly so much.
We have only just lighted the fire, and cooked the
fish, and fed Geordie, and put him to sleep, and got our
own breakfast ;—and we were not long about that,—
we were so very hungry! That is all we have done
since you went to sleep.”

“Tt seems a great deal for half an hour,” said
Oliver. “How good this fish is! Where did you
get it?”

“T found it on the stairs. Ah! I thought you
would not believe it ; but we shall find more, I dare
say, as the water sinks; and then you will believe what
you see.”

“ On the stairs! How did it get there !”

“The same way that the water got there, I suppose,
and the poor little drowned pig that lay close by the
same place. There was a whole heap of fish washed up
at the turn of the stairs ; enough for us all to-day.
Ailwin said we must eat them first, because the pig will
keep. Such a nice little clean sucking-pig !”

“That puts me in mind of the poor sow,” said
Oliver. “I forgot her when we were busy about the
cow. lam afraid she is drowned or starved before
this; but we must see about it.”

“Not now.” said Mildred. ‘Do you go to sleep
again now. There is not such a hurry as there was,
the waters are going down so fast.”

« Area they, indeed ?—Oh, Ido not want to sleep any



SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 9}

more. Iam quitewideawake now. Are you sure the
flood is going down?”

“Only look! Look at that steep red bank on the
Red-hill, where it was all a green slope yesterday, and
covered with water this morning. Look at the little
speck of a hillock, where neighbour Gool’s house was.
We could not see that this morning, | am sure. And if
you will come down, you will find that there is scarcely
‘any water in the upper rooms now. Geordie might
play at paddling there, as he is so fond of doing in his
tub. if we could only get everything dried.”

“ We might get many things dried before night, in
such a sun asthis. How very hot it is!”

Oliver ran down, and convinced himself that the
flood was abating fast. It must have swelled up
higher within the house than outside ; for it tad sunk
three feet in the upper rooms, and two on the outer
walls of the house. Now that the worst of the danger
seemed to be past, the children worked with fresh
spirit, making all possible use of the sunshine for drying
their bedding and clothes, in hopes of sleeping in a
chamber this night, instead of on the house-top, which
they had feared would be necessary. Nothing could
have made them believe, if they had been told at sun-
rise, how cheerfully they would sit down, in the after-
noon, to rest and talk, and hope that they might, after
all, meet their father and mother again soon, alive
and well.



93 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

CHAPTER VI.
ROGER HIS OWN MASTER.

THERE lay Roger under the tree, thinkiug that there
was nothing to prevent his having all his own way
now, and that he was going to be very happy. He
had always thought it hard that he could not have
his own way entirely, and had been unsatisfied with a
much greater degree of liberty than most people wish
or have.

He had hitherto led a wandering life, having no
home duties, no school to go to, no trade to work at,—
no garden, or other pleasure, to fix him to one spot.
He had gone, with his uncle, from sporting on the
moors, in one season of the year, to sporting in the
marshes in another ; and, wild as was this way of life,
it made his will so much wilder, that he was always
wishing for more liberty still. When his aunt had
desired him to watch the kettle, as it hung over the
fire near the tent, or asked him to help her in shaking
out their bedding, or cleaning their utensils, he had
turned sulky, and wished that he lived alone, where
he need not be plagued about other people’s affairs.
When his uncle had ordered him to attend at a cer-
tain spot and hour, with nets or a gun, he had been
wont to feel himself seized with a sudden desire to
wander in an opposite direction, or to lie half asleep
in the sun, too lazy to work at all. When he had
played truant, and returned late to the tent, and found
nothing better left to eat than a dry crust of bread, or
the cold remains of a mess of fish, he had frequently



ROGER HIS OWN MASTER. $3

thought how pleasant it would be to have the best of
everything for himself, and only his dog to eat up the
rest. So this boy had often felt and thought; and so
would many think and feel, perhaps, if there were
many as forlorn and friendless as he, with no one to
love and be loved by. Though he had had an uncle and
aunt, he had never had a friend. He knew that they
cared about him only because he could help to keep
the tent, and take the game; and, feeling this, it was
irksome to him to be under their orders.

The time was now come for which he had so often
longed. He was his own master completely. There
was nobody near who could order or compel him to do
anything ; while he, on his part, had an obedient ser-
vant in his dog. The sky was blue and warm over-
head, and the trees cast a pleasant shade. The Red-
hill was now an island, which he had all to himself ;
and it was richly stocked with game, for his food and
sport. Here he could have his own way, and be com-
pletely happy. ®

Such was Roger’s idea when he stole the tinder-box,
and crossed to the hill; and this was what he said to
himself as he cooked his meal, and when he lay down
after it on the grass, with the bees humming round
him, and the sound of the waters being now a pleasant
ripple, instead of the rush and roar of yesterday. He
desired his dog to lie down, and not disturb him ; and
he took this opportunity to change the animal’s name.
Stephen Redfurn, taking up the quarrel of the day
against the bishops, would have the dog called
“Bishop,” and nothing else. Roger had always wished
to call him, “Spy ;” but Bishop would never answer to
the name of Spy, or even seem to hear it. Now, how-



G4 "SHE SETTLERS A? HOME

ever, Bishop was to be Spy, as there was no one here
to indulge the dog with his old name; and Spy was
told so many times over, and with all the devices that
could be thought of, for impressing the fact on his
memory.

This lesson being given, Roger shut his eyes, and
thought he would sleep as long as he chose; but, in
the first place, he found himself too much heated for
sleep. He considered that it was no wonder, after
broiling himself in making a fire to broil his hare.
He wished animals ran about ready cooked—as fruits
grow on the sunny side of trees. It was too bad to
have to bustle and toil for an hour, to get ready what
was eaten in ten minutes ; and it just passed through
his mind that, whatever Nan Redfurn might have
sometimes said and done to him, she had usually saved
him all trouble in cooking, and had had his meals
ready for him whenever he chose to be at the tent at
meal times. He rose, and thought he could find a
cooler place, further under the trees.

He did so, and again lay down. Sleep began to
steal over him ; and, at the same time, the thought
crept into his mind that he should never more see
Stephen Redfurn. The ideas that come when one is
dropping asleep are very vivid ; and this one startled
Roger so, that Spy found it out, and pricked up his
ears, as ifat some alarm. ‘This thought would not go
‘away; for it so happened that the last words that —
Stephen and Roger had spoken together were angry
ones. Stephen had ordered Roger to carry the fry
they had fished for manure to a field, where he had
promised to deposit it by a certain time. Roger had
been sure that the fish would be better for lying in



KUGER HIS OWN MASYVER. 95

the sun a while longer, and refused to touch it. No
matter which was right about the manure ; both were
wrong in being angry. Stephen had said that Roger
was a young rascal, who would never come to good ;
and Roger had looked impertinently in his uncle’s
face, while whistling to the dog to come with him,
and make sport among the water-fowl. It was that
face—that countenance of his uncle’s, as he had last
seen it, which was before Roger’s eyes now, as he lay
dozing. With it came the angry tones of Stephen’s
voice, saying that he would never come to good.
Mixed and confused with this was the roar of a
coming flood, and a question (how and whence spoken
he knew not) whether his uncle might not possibly
have been saved, if he had not, against orders, carried
away Bishop—for the dog was still Bishop in his
master’s dreams.

Roger started bolt upright, and looked about him.

He felt very tired; but he thought he would not lie
down again just yet. It was odd that he could not
get sound asleep, so tired as he was. If he should not
sleep better than this at night, what should he do?
He wished he had some more of that woman’s cherry-
brandy. He had slept sound enough after drinking
that. It was. well for Roger that he was not now
within reach of intoxicating liquors—the state of his
mind would probably have made a drunkard of him.
- His mind ran strangely on his uncle, and his uncle's
last looks and words, even as he stood wide awake
and staring at the beehives. A rustle in the briers
behind him made him jump as if he had been shot. It
was only a partridge taking wing.

“Whirr away?’ said Roger to her “You can’t



96 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

go far. You will have to light again upon my island.
You all belong to me—you swarming creatures! You
may run about awhile, and flutter away a bit; but

you will all belong to me at last, with Spy to help —

me. I'll have some sport, now. Here, Spy! Spy !”

Spy had disappeared, and did not come when called.

- A whistle brought him, however, at last. He came
out of the thicket, licking his chops. Being com-.
manded to bring his game, he soon produced two
_ rabbits. It was easy work for the dog to catch them ;
for the poor creatures had no holes here. They had
come tc this raised ground from a warren some way
off, where they had been soaked out of their holes.

Spy was praised for everything but not answering
to his name. For that he was lectured, and then sent
off again, to try what he could find. He brought in
prey of various kinds; for he could not stir among
the trees without starting some. During the fun, as
Roger thought it, while the terrified birds were flut-
tering among the branches of the trees, and the scared
animals bursting through the thicket, Roger resolved
that he: would not plague himself with any more
thoughts of Stephen and Nan. Ifthey were drowned, —
it was none of his doing ;. and, as for Stephen’s anger
yesterday, there was nothing new in that; Stephen
was angry every day of his life. He would not be
scared out of his sleep any more by nonsense. He
would not give up having his own way to see Stephen
and Nan under these very trees ; and, as he had got
his own way at last, he would enjoy it.

This mood went on till there was such a heap of
dead animals, that Roger began to think whether he
could skin them all, and clean their skins, in such hot



RUGER HIS OWN MASTER. 97

weather as this, before they were unfit for any use.
As for eating them, here was twenty times as much
food as could be eaten while it was good. He did just
remember the children and Ailwin, and how much
they probably wanted food ; but he settled that it was
‘no business of his; and he was not going to trouble
himself to leave his island for anybody. He would
eall in Spy, and tie him up; for there must be no
more game killed to-day.

Spy did not come for any calling,—for anything
short of the well-known whistle, as Roger would not
utter the name of Bishop. Roger grew very angry at
being obeyed no better than this ; and his last whistle
was so shrill that the dog seemed to know what it
threatened, refused to answer it as long as he dared,
and then came unwillingly, with fear in every atti-
tude. He gave a low whine when he saw his master ;
as he had good reason to do. Roger tied him to a
tree, and then gave loose to his passion. He thrashed
the dog with a switch till the poor creature's whine
was heard and pitied by the children and Ailwin on
their house top; and there is no knowing how long
the whipping might not’ have gone on, if the animal
had not at last turned furious, and snapped at Roger
in a way which made him think of giving over, and
finding something else to do with his sovereignty.

He found it was rather dull work, so far, having all
his own way, in an island of his own. At last, he be-
thought himself of an amusement he had been fond of
before he lived so much in the moors and the carrs.
He bethought himself of birdsnesting. It was too
late for eggs ; but he thought the bird-families might
not have all dispersed. Here were plenty of trees,

7



98 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

and they must be full of birds ; for, though they were
silent to-day (he did wish the place was not quite so
silent!) they sometimes sent their warblings so far
over the carr, that Nan Redfurn would mention them
in the tent. He would see what ailed them, that they
would not give him any music to-day. By incessant
cooing, he obtained an answer from one solitary pigeon ;
which he took advantage of to climb the tree, and look
for the nest. He found a nest; but there was nothing
in it. He climbed several trees, and found abundance
of nests ; but all deserted. Except his solitary pigeon
{which presently vanished), there appeared to be not a
winged creature in all those trees. The birds had been
frightened away by the roar of the flood of yesterday ;
and, perhaps, by seeing the fields, to which they had
been wont to resort for their food, all turned into a
waste of muddy waters,

Roger threw to the ground every empty nest he
found, from the common inability of a boy to keep his
hands off a bird’s-nest. When he was tired of climb-
ing trees, he picked up all the scattered nests, and laid
sliem in a long row on the grass. They looked dismal
enough. It is disagreeable to see a range of houses left
half-built (such as may be seen in the neighbourhood
of large towns), with the doorways gaping, and the
window-spaces empty, and roofs hardly covering in the
dark inside ; but such a row of houses is less dismal
than Roger’s array of birds’-nests. There is something
in the very make of a bird’s-nest which rouses thoughts
of blue or red-spotted eggs, of callow young birds, with
their large, hungry eyes and beaks, or of twittering
fledglings, training for a summer life of pleasure. To
see, Instead of ine. their silent empty habitations,


The Baldwin Library

RmB via



THE

SETTLERS AT HOME

BY

HARRIET MARTINEAU

AUTHOR OF

6

“THE CROFTON BOYS,” “THE PEASANT AND THE PRINCE,” ETC.

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE
BY HARRIET MARTINEAU.
Price 1s. 6d. each, with Frontispiece.

THE CROFTON BOYS.
THE PEASANT AND THE PRINCE
FEATS ON THE FIORD.
TRADITIONS OF PALESTINE,

‘THE BILLOW AND THE ROCK.
THE SETTLERS AT HOME,
CONTENTS,

CHAP. PAgh
I. THE SETTLERS AT HOME. «© «© © © © o

II. NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES . . 6 6 © «© «© «© © « 2
II. ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR . . 6 6 6 © «© © «© 88
Ivy. A HUNGRY DAY . + ee 6 + © © we ew ew OK
V, SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS . . «
VI. ROGER HIS OWN MASTER. . 2 6 6 6 o ©
VII, ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER « « - « « «© « « 104
VIII. NEW QUARTERS. . « 6 6 6 © © © © © « «© 130
IX. ONE PRISONER RELEASED. .« « 6 6 «© © « « « 142
X. GRAVES IN THE LEVELS . . 2 « 6 2 © © «© « 164
XI. MORE HARDSHIP . . 6 6 «© «© © + «ee © 176

XI NEWS. 2 6 ee ew ew we ww ew ww ee 18S
THE

SETTLERS AT HOME.

CHAPTER I.

Two hundred years ago, the Isle of Axholme was one
of the most remarkable places in England. It is not
an island in the sea. It is a part of Lincolnshire—a
piece of land hilly in the middle, and surrounded by
rivers. The Trent runs on the east side of it; and
some smaller rivers formerly flowed round the rest of
it, joining the Humber to the north. These rivers
carried down a great deal of mud with them to the
Humber, and the tides of the Humber washed up a
great deal of sea-sand into the mouths of the rivers ;
so that the waters could not for some time flow freely,
and were at last prevented from flowing away at all :
they sank into the ground, and made a swamp of it—
a swamp of many miles round the hilly part of the
Isle of Axholme.

This swamp was long a very dismal place. Fish
and water-birds, and rats inhabited it: and here and
there stood the hut of a fowler ; or a peat-stack raised
by the people who lived on the hills round, and who
obtained their fuel from the peat-lands in the swamp.
There were also, sprinkled over the district, a few very
small houses—cells belonging to the Abbey of St.
Mary, at York. To these cells some of the monks
8 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

from St. Mary’s had been fond of retiring, in old
times, for meditation and prayer, and doing good in
the district round; but when the soil became so
swampy as to give them the ague, as often as they paid
a visit to these cells, the monks left off their. practice
of retiring hither ; and their little dwellings stood
empty, to be gradually overgrown with green moss and
lank weeds, which no hand cleared away.

At last a Dutchman, having seen what wonders
were done in his own country by good draining,
thought he could render this’ district fit to be inha-
bited and cultivated : and he made a bargain with the
king about it. After spending much money, and
taking great pains, he succeeded. He drew the waters
off into new channels, and kept them there by sluices,
and by carefully watching the embankments, he had
raised, The land which was left. dry was manured
and cultivated, till, instead of a reedy. and mossy
swamp, there were fields of clover and of corn, and
meadows of the finest. grass, with. cattle and sheep
grazing. in large numbers... The dwellings that were
still. standing were made into, farm-houses, and new
farm-houses were built... A church here, anda, chapel
there was cleaned, and warmed, and. painted, and
opened for worship; and good roads crossed the dis-
trict into all the counties near...

Instead of being pleased with this change, the people
of the country were angry and discontented. Those
who lived near had been long. accustomed. to fishing
and fowling in the swamp, without paying any rent,
or having. to ask anybody’s leave. They had. no,mind
now to settle to the regular toilsome business of farm-
ing,—and to be under a landlord, to whom they must
TILE SETTLERS AT HOME, 7

pay rent. Probably, too, they knew nothing about
farming, and would have failed in it if they had tried.
Thus far they were not to be blamed. But nothing
can exceed the malignity with which they treated the
tenants who did settle in the isle, and the spiteful
spirit which they showed towards them, on every
occasion. / '
These tenants were chiefly foreigners. There was a
civil wax in England at that time : and the Yorkshire
and Lincolnshire people were so much engaged in fight-
ing for King Charles or for the Parliament, that fewer
persons were at liberty to undertake new farms than
there would have been in a time of peace. When the
Dutchman and his companions found that the English
were not disposed to occupy the Levels (as the drained
lands were called), they encouraged some of their own
countrymen to come over. With them arrived some
few Frenchmen, who had been driven from France
into Holland, on account of their being Protestants.
From first to last, there were about two hundred fami-
lies, Dutch and French, settled in the Levels. Some
were collected into a village, and had a chapel opened,
where a pastor of their own performed service for
them. Others were scattered over the district, living
just where their occupations required them to settle.
All these foreigners were subject to bad treatment
from their neighbours; but the stragglers were the
worst off ; because it was easiest to tease and injure
those who lived alone. The disappointed fishers and
fowlers gave other reasons for their own conduct, be-
sides that of being nearly deprived of their fishing and
fowling. These reasons were all bad, as reasons. for
hating always are. One excuse was that the new set-
8 THE SETTLERS Awe NOME

tlers were foreigners :—as if those who were far from
their own land did not need particular hospitality and
kindness. Another plea was that they were con-:
nected with the king, by being settled on the lands
which he had bargained to have drained: so that all
who sided with the parliament ought to injure the new
tenants, in order to annoy the king. If the settlers
had tried to serve the king by injuring his enemies,
this last reason might have passed in a time of war.
But it was not so. It is probable that the foreigners
did not understand the quarrel. At any rate, they
took no part in it. All they desired was to be left in
peace, to cultivate the lands they paid rent for. But,
instead of peace, they had little but persecution.

One of these settlers, Mr. Linacre, was not himself
a farmer. He supplied the farmers of the district with
a manure of a particular kind, which suited some of
the richest soils they cultivated. He found, in the
red soil of the isle, a large mass of that white earth,
called gypsum, which, when wetted and burnt, makes
plaster of Paris ; and which, when ground, makes a
fine manure for some soils, as the careful Dutchmen
well knew. Mr. Linacre set up a windmill on a little
eminence which rose out of the Level, just high
enough to catch the wind; and there he ground the
gypsum which he dug from the neighbouring patch or
guarry. He had.to build some out-houses, but not a
dwelling-house ; for, near his mill, with just space
enough for a good garden between, was one of the
largest of the old cells of the monks of St. Mary’s, so
well built of stone, and so comfortably arranged, that
Mr. Linacre had little to do but to have it cleaned and
furnished, and the windows and doors made new, to
THE SETTLERS AT HOME. &

fit it for the residence of his wife and children, and a
servant.

This building was round, and had three rooms be-
low, and three over them. A staircase of stone was
in the very middle, winding round, like a corkscrew,
—leading to the upper rooms, and out upon the roof,
from which there was a beautiful view,—quite as far
as the Humber to the north-east, and to the circle of
hills on every other side. Each of the rooms below
had a door to the open air, and another to the stair-
case ,—very unlike modern houses, and not so fit as
they to keep out wind and cold. But for this, the
dwelling would have been very warm, for the walls
were of thick stone; and the fire-places were so large,
that it seemed as if the monks had been fond of good
fires. Two of these lower rooms opened into the gar-
den ; and the third, the kitchen, into the yard ;—so
that the maid, Ailwin, had not far to go, to milk the
cow and feed the poultry.

Mrs. Linacre was as neat in the management of her
house as people from Holland usually are ; and she did
not like that the sitting-room, where her husband had
his meals, and spent his evenings, should be littered
by the children, or used at all by them during her
absence at her daily occupation, in the summer. So
she let them use the third room for their employments
and their play. Her occupation, every summer's day,
was serving out the waters from a mineral spring, a
good deal frequented by sick people, three miles from
her house, on the way to Gainsborough. She set off,
after an early breakfast, in the cool of the morning,
and generally arrived at the hill-side where the spring
was, and had unlocked her little shed, and taken ont
10 THE SETTLERS AT HOMs.

her glasses, and rinsed them, before any travellers
passed. It was rarely indeed that a sick person had
to wait a minute for her appearance. There she sat,
wn her shed when it rained, and under a tree when it
was fine, sewing or knitting very diligently when no
customers appeared, and now and then casting a
glance over the Levels to the spot where her husband’s
mill rose in the midst of the green fields, and where
she almost fancied sometimes that she could see the
children sitting on the mill-steps, or working in the
garden. When customers appeared, she was always
ready in a moment to serve them; and her smile
cheered those who were sick, and pleased those who
came merely from curiosity. She slipped the half-
pence she received into a pocket beneath her apron ;
and sometimes the pocket was such a heavy one to
carry three miles home, that she just stepped aside to
the village shop at Haxey, or into a farm-house where
the people would be going to market next day, to get
her copper exchanged for silver. Since the times had
become so troubled as they were now, however, she
had avoided showing her money anywhere on the
road. Her husband’s advice was that she should give
up attending the spring altogether ; but she gained so
much money by it, and it was so likely that somebody
would step into her place there as soon as she gave it
up, so that she would not be able to regain her office
when quieter times should come, that she entreated
him to allow her to go on while she had no fears. She
took the heavy gold ear-rings out of her ears, wore a
plainer'cap, and left her large silver watch at home ;
so that she looked like a poor woman whom no needy
soldier or bold thief would think of robbing. She
THE SETTLERS AT HOME. il

guessed by the sun what was the right time for lock-
ing up her glasses, and going home; and she commonly
met her husband, coming to fetch her, before she had
got half way.

The three children were sure to be perched on the
top of the quarry bank, or on the mill-steps, or out on
the roof of the house, at the top of the winding stair-
case. Little George himself, though only two years
old, knew the very moment when he should shout and
clap his hands, to make his mother wave her handker-
chief from the turn of the road. Oliver and Mildred
did not exactly fecl that the days were too long while
their mother was away, for they had plenty to do;
but they felt that the best part of the day was the hour
between her return and their going to bed: and, un-
like people generally, they liked winter better than
summer, because at that season their mother never left
them, except to go to the shop, or the market at
Haxey.

Though Oliver was only eleven, and Mildred nine,
they were not too young to have a great deal to do.
Oliver was really useful as a gardener; and many a
good dish of vegetables of his growing came to table
in the course of the year. Mildred had to take care
of the child almost all day; she often prepared the
cabbage, and cut the bacon for Ailwin to broil. She
could also do what Ailwin could not,—she could sew a
little; and now and then there was an apron or a
handkerchief ready to be shown when Mrs. Linacre
came home in the evening. If she met with any diffi-
culty in her job, the maid could not help her, but her
father sometimes could; and it was curious to see
Mildred mounting the mill when she was at any loss,
12 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

and her father wiping the white plaster off his hands,
and taking the needle or the scissors in his great
fingers, rather than that his little girl should not be
able to surprise her mother with a finished piece of
work, Then, both Oliver and Mildred had to learn
their catechism, to say to Pastor Dendel on Sunday ;
and always a copy or an exercise on hand, to be ready
to show him when he should call; and some book to
finish that he had lent them to read, and that others
of his flock would be ready for when they had done.
Besides all this, there was an occupation which both
boy and girl thought more of than of all others toge-
ther. Among the loads of gypsum that came to the
mill, there were often pieces of the best kind,—lumps
of real, fine alabaster. Alabaster is so soft as to be
easily worked. Even a finger-nail will make a mark
upon it. Everybody knows how beautiful vases and
little statues, well wrought in alabaster, look on a
mantel-piece, or a drawing-room table. Oliver had
seen such in France, where they are very common:
and his father had carried one or two ornaments of
this kind into Holland, when he had to leave France,
It was a great delight for Oliver to find, on settling in
Axholme, that he could have as much alabaster as he
pleased, if he could only work it. With a little help
from Pastor Dendel and his father, he soon learned to
do so; and of all his employments, he liked this the
best. Pastor Dendel brought him a few bowls and
cups of pretty shapes and different sizes, made of
common wood by a turner, who was one of his flock ;
and Oliver first copied these in clay, and then in
alabaster. By degrees he learned to vary his pat-
terns, and at last to make his clay models from fancies
THE SETTLERS AT TOME, 13

of his own,—some turning out failures, and others
prettier than any of his wooden cups. These last he
proceeded to carve out -* rabaster.

Mildred could not help watching him while he was
about his favourite work, though it was difficult to
keep little George from tossing the alabaster about,
and stamping on the best pieces, or sucking them. He
would sometimes give his sister a few minutes’ peace
and quiet by rolling the wooden bowls the whole
length of the room, and running after them: and
there was also an hour, in the middle of the day, when
he went to sleep in his large Dutch cradle. At those
times Mildred would consult with her brother about
his work ; or sew and watch him by turns; or read
one of the pastor’s little books, stopping occasionally
to wonder whether Oliver could attend at once to his
carving, and to what she was reading. When she
saw that he was spoiling any part, or that his hand
was shaking, she would ask whether he had not
been at work long enough; and then they would
run out to the garden or the quarry, or to jump
George (if he was awake again) from the second mill-
step.

One fine month of August, not a breath of wind
had been blowing for a week or two, so that the mill-
sails had not made a single turn; not a load of
gypsum had been brought during the time, and Oliver
was quite out of alabaster; though, as it happened,
he much wanted a good supply, for a particular reason.
Every morning he brought out his tools; and every
morning the sky was so clear, the corn-fields so still—
the very trees so silent, that he wondered whether
there had ever been so calm a month of Augnst before.
14 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

His father and he employed their time upon the
garden, while they had so good an opportunity. Be-
fore it was all put in order, and the entire stock of
autumn cabbages set, there came a breezy day; and
the children were left to finish the cabbage patch by
themselves, While they were at work, it made them
merry to hear the mill-sails whirring through the
air, and to see, at intervals, the trees above the quarry
bowing their heads, and the reeds waving in the
swamp, and the water of the meadow-ponds dimpling
and rippling, as the wind swept over the Levels. Oliver
soon heard something that he liked better still—the
creak of the truck that brought the gypsum from the
quarry, and the crack of the driver’s whip.

He threw down the dibble with which he was plant-
ing out his cabbages—tripped over the line he had
set to direct his drilling, tumbled on his face,
scrambled up again, and ran, rubbing the dirt from
his knees as he went, to look out some alabaster from
the load.

Mildred was not long after him, though he called
to her that she had better stay and finish the cab-
bages, and though little George, immediately on
feeling himself at liberty, threw himself upon the fresh
mould of the cabbage bed, and amused himself with
pulling up, and flinging right and left, the plants that
had just been set. How could Mildred attend to this,
when she was sure she was wanted to turn over the
gypsum, and see what she could find? So Master
George went on with his pranks, till Ailwin, by acci-
dent, saw him from the yard, ran and snatched him
up, flung him over her shoulder, and carried him away
screaming, til], to pacify him, she set him down among
THE SETTLERS AT HOME, 16

the poultry, which he presently found more amusing
than young cabbage piants.

“Now we shall have a set of new cups for the
spring, presently,” suid Oliver, as he measured lump
after lump with his little foot-rule.

“Cups for the waters !” exclaimed his father. “So
that is the reason of this prodigious hurry, is it, my
boy? ‘You think tin cups not good enough for your
mother, or for her customers, or for the waters. Which
of them do you think ought to be ashamed of tin
cups?”

“The water, most of all. Instead of sparkling in a
clear bright glass, it looks as nasty as it tastes in a
thing that is more brown and rusty every time it is
dipped. 1 will give the folk a pair of cups that shall
tempt them to drink—a pair of cups as white as
milk.”

“They will not long remain white : and those who
broke the glasses will be the more bent upon spoiling
your cups, the more pains you spend upon them.”

“T hope the Redfurns will not happen to hear
of them. We need not blab; and the folk who
drink the waters go their way, as soon as they have
done.”

“Whether the Redfurns be here or there, my boy,
there is no want of prying eyes to see all that the poor
foreigners do. ‘Your mother is watched, it is my be-
lief, every time she dips her cup ; and I in the mill,
and you in the garden. There is no hope of keeping
anything from our enemies.”

Seeing Oliver look about him uneasily, Mr. Linacre
reproached himself for having said anything to alarm
his timid boy: so he added what he himself always
16 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

found the most comforting thought, when he feit dis-
turbed at living among unkind neighbours.

“Let them watch us, Oliver. We do nothing that
we need be ashamed of. The whole world is welcome
to know how we live,—all we do, from year’s end to
year’s end.”

“Yes, if they would let us alone, father. But it is
so hard to have our things broken and spoiled !”

“So it is; and to know what ill-natured talk is
going on about us. But we must let them take their
‘ own way, and bear it as well as we can ; for there is
no help for it.”

“TI wish I were a justice !” cried Mildred. “How I
would punish them, every one!”

“Then I wish you were a justice, my dear; for we
cannot get anybody punished as it is.”

“ Mildred,” said Oliver, “I wish you would finish
the cabbages. You know they must be done; and I
am very busy.”

“Oh, Oliver! I am such a little thing to plant a
whole cabbage bed. You will be able to come by and
by ; I want to help you.”

“You cannot help me, dear : and you know how to
do the cabbages as well as anybody. You really can-
not help me.”

“Well, I want'to see you, then.”

“ There is nothing to see yet. You will have done, if
you make haste, before I begin to cut. Do, dear !”

“Well, I will,” replied Mildred, cheerfully. Her
father caught her up, and gave her one good jump down
the whole flight of steps, then bidding her work away
before the plants were all withered and dead.

She did work away, till she was so hot and tired
‘THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

that she had to stop and rest. There were still twe
rows to plant; and she thought she should never get
through them,—or, at any rate, not before Oliver had
preceeded a great way with his. carving. She was
going to cry ; but she remembered how that would vex
Oliver: so she restrained herself, and ran to ask Ailwin
whether she could come and help. did what everybody asked her; so she gave over
sorting feathers, and left them all about, while she
went down the garden.

Mildred knew she must take little George away, or
he would be making confusion among the feathers that
had been sorted. She invited him to go with her, and
peep over the hedge at the g»ese in the marsh; and
the little fellow took her fore-finger, and trotted away
with his sister to the hedge.

There were plenty of water-fowl in the marsh ; and
there was something else which Mildred did not seem
to like. While George was quack-quacking, and making
himself as like a little goose as he could, Mildred
softly called to Ailwin, and beckoned her to the hedge.’
Ailwin came, swinging the great spade in her right
hand, as easily as Mildred could flourish George’s whip

“Took,—look there !—under that bank, by the
dyke !” said Mildred, as softly as if she had been afraid
of being heard at a yard’s distance. ‘

“Eh! look—if it be not the gipsies!” cried Ailwin,
almost as loud as if she had been talking across the
marsh. ‘Eh, dear! we have got the gipsies upon us
now ; and what will become of my poultry? Yon is
a gipsy tent, sure; and we must tell the master and
mistress, and keep an eye on the poultry. Sure, yor
is a gipsy tent.”

2
18 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

Little George, thinking that everybody was very
much frightened, began to roar; and that made Ailwin
talk louder still, to vomfort him ; so that nothing that
Mildred said was heard. At last, she pulled Ailwin’s
apron, so that the tall woman stooped down, to ask

what she wanted.
“T do not think it is the gipsies,” said she. “Iam

afraid it is worse than that. I am afraid itis the Red-
furns. This is just the way they settle themselves—in just
that sort of tent—when they come to fowl, all autumn.”

“Tf I catch that Roger,” said Ailwin, “ I’11——”
And she clenched her hand, as if she meant to do ter-
rible things, if she caught Roger.

“ T will go and call fath :v, shall I?” said Mildred, her
teeth chattering, as she stood in the hot sun.

She was turning to go up the garden, when a laugh
from George made her look back again. She saw a
head covered with an otter-skin cap,—the face looking
very cross and threatening, peeping over the hedge,—
which was so high above the marsh, that the person
must have climbed the bank on purpose to look into
the garden. There was no mistaking the face. It was
certainly Roger Redfurn—the plague of the settlers,
who, with his uncle, Stephen Redfurn, was always
doing all the mischief he. could to everybody who had,
as he said, trespassed on the marshes. Nobody tiked
to see the Redfurns sitting down in the neighbourhood ;
and still less, skulking about the premises. Mildred
flew towards the mill; while Ailwin, who never
stopped to consider what was wise, and might not,
perhaps, have hit upon wisdom if she had, took up a
stone, and told Roger he had better be gone, for that
he had no friends here. Roger seemed to have jus
THE SETTLERS AT HOME. 19

come from some orchard ; for he pulled a hard apple
aut of his pocket, aimed it at Ailwin’s head, and struck
her such a blow on the nose as made her eyes water.
While she was wiping her eyes with her apron, and
trying to see again, Roger coaxed the child to bring
him his apple again, and disappeared.

When Mildred reached the mill, she found Pastor
Dendel there, talking with her father about sending
some manure to his land. The pastor was so busy,
that he only gave her a nod; and she had therefore
time to recover herself, instead of frightening every-
body with her looks and her news at once. Oliver
could not stay in the house while the pastor was at
the mill: so he stood behind him, chipping away at
the rough part of his work. Mildred whispered to
him that the Redfurns were close at hand. She saw
Oliver turn very red, though he told her not to be
frightened. Perhaps the pastor perceived this too,
when he turned round, for he said—

“ What is the matter, children? Mildred, what have
you been doing, that you are so out of breath? Have
you beén running all the way from Lincoln spire ?”

“No, sir; not running,—but——”

“The Redfurns are come, sir,” cried Oliver. “Father,
the Redfurns are come.”

“Roger has been peeping over the hedge into the
garden,” cried Mildred, sinking into tears.

The miller looked grave, and said here was an end
of all peace, for some time to come.

“Are you all at the mercy of a boy like Roger
Redfurn,” asked the pastor, “so that you leek as if a
plague bad come with this fresh breeze ?”

“ And his uncle, sir”

Q—.
20.~—(« THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

“ And his aunt,” added Mildred.

“You know what Stephen Redfurn is, sir,” observed
Mr. Linacre. “ Roger beats even him for mischief.
And we are at their mercy, sir. There is not a magis-
trate, as you know, that will hear a complaint from
one of us against the country people. We get nothing
but trouble, and expense, and ridicule, by making com-
plaints. We know this beforehand ; for the triumph
is always on the other side.”

“Tt is hard,” said the pastor: “but still,—here is
only a man, a woman, anda boy. Cannot you defend
yourselves against them ?”

“No, sir; because they are not an honourable
enemy,” replied Mr. Linacre.- “If Stephen would
fight it out with me on even ground, we would see who
would beat: and I dare say my boy there, though
none of the roughest, would stand up against Roger.
But such fair trials do not suit them, sir. People who
creep through drains, to do us mischief, and hide in the
reeds when we are up and awake, and come in among
us only when we are asleep, are a foe that may easily
ruin any honest man, who cannot get protection from
the law. They houghed my cow, two years ago, sir.”

“And they mixed all mother’s feathers, for -the
whole year,” exclaimed Mildred.

“And they blinded my dog,” cried Oliver ;—* put
out its eyes.”

“Oh! what will they do next?” said Mildred, look-
ing up through her tears at the pastor.

“ Worse things than even these have been done te
some of the people in my village,” replied the pastor:
“and they have been borne, Mildred, without tears.”

‘Mildred made haste to wipe her eyes.
{iE SETTLERS AT HOME. 21

“ And what do you think, my dears, of the life our
Protestant brethren are leading now, in some parts of
the world ?”

“Father came away from France hecause he was ill-
used for being a Protestant,” said Oliver.

“The pastor knows all about that, my boy,” observed
Mr. Linacre.

“Yes, I do,” said the pastor. “I know that you
suffered worse things there than here ; and I know
that things worse than either are at present endured
by our brethren in Piedmont. You have a warm
house over your heads ; and you live in sunshine and
plenty. They are driven from their villages, with fire
and sword—forced to shelter among the snow-drifts,
and pent up in caves till they rush out starving, to im-
plore mercy of their scoffing persecutors. Could you
bear this, children ?”

“They suffer these things for their religion,” ob-
served Oliver. “They feel that they are martyrs.”

“Do you think there is comfort in that thought,—
in the pride of martyrdom,—to the son who sees his
aged parents perish by the wayside,—to the mother
whose infant is dashed against the rock before her
eyes 1”

“ How do they bear it all, then ?”

“They keep one another in mind that it is God’s
will, my dears ; and that obedient children can, if they
try, bear all that God sees fit to lay upon them. So
they praise His name with astrong heart, though their
voices be weak. Morning and night, those mountains
echo with hymns; though death, in one form or
another, is about the sufferers on every side.”

“ My dear,” said Mr. Linacre, “let us make no more
22 THE SETTLERS AT IIOME.

complaints about the Redfurns. TI am ashamed, when
I think of our brethren abroad, that we ever let Ste-
phen and Roger put us up to anger. You will see no
more tears here, sir, I. hope.”

“Mildred will not quite promise that,” said the
pastor, smiling kindly on the little girl. “Make no
promises, my dear, that a little girl like you may be
tempted to break. Only try to forgive all people who
tease and injure you; and remember that nothing
more ever happens than God permits,—though He
does not yet see fit to let us know why.”

“T would only just ask this, sir,” said Mr. Linacre.
“Ts there anything going forward just now which par-
ticularly encourages our enemies to attack us ?”

“The Parliament have a committee sitting at Lin-
coln, at present ; and the king’s cause seems to be low
in these parts. We are thus at the mercy of such ag
choose to consider us king’s men: but there is a
higher and truer mercy always about us.”

The miller took off his hat in token of respect.

The pastor’s eye had been upon Oliver for some
time. He now asked whether he meant to make his
new cups plain, like all the rest, or to try to ornament
them. Mildred assured him that Oliver had carved a
beading round the two last bowls that he had cut.

“TY think you might attempt something far prettier
than beading,” said the pastor ; “particularly with so
many patterns before your eyes to work by.”

Efe was looking up at the little recess above the door
of the house, near which they were standing. This
recess, in which there had formerly been an image,
was surrounded with carved stone-work.

“TY see some foliage there which would answer your
NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 23

purpose, Oliver, if you could make a model trom it.
Let us look closer.” .

And Pastor Dendel fixed a short Jadder against the
house wall, and went up, with Oliver betore him.
They were so busy selecting the figures that Oliver
thought he could copy, and drawing them upon paper,
and then setting about modelling them in clay, that
the Redfurns did not prevent their being happy for
this day, at least. Mr. Linacre, too, was hard at work
all day, grinding, that the pastor's manure might be
served to-morrow ; and he found hard work as good
for an anxious mind as those who have tried generally
find it to be.

CHAPTER II.
NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES.

Wuen Mrs. Linacre was told in the evening of the
arrival of the disagreeable neighbours who were in the
marsh, she was sorry; but when she had gone round the
premises with her husband at night, and found all safe,
and nc tokens of any intrusion, she was disposed to hope
that the Redfurns would, this time, keep to their fish-
ing and fowling, and make no disturbance. Oliver
and Mildred crept down to the garden hedge at sun-
rise, and peeped through it, so as to see all that was
doing in the carr, as the marsh was called.* After
watching some time, they saw Stephen and Roger
creep out from under the low brown tent. As the
almost level sun shone full in their faces, they rubbed

* In that part of the country, @ carr means & morass.
P
24 - THE SETTLERS AT HOME. Sate,

their eyes; then they stretched and yawned, and
seemed to be trying hard to. wake themselves tho-
roughly.

“They have been sound asleep, however,” observed
Oliver to his sister ; “and it is still so early, that I do
not believe they have been abroad about mischief in the
‘night. They would not have been awake yet if they
had.”

“Look! there is a woman!” exclaimed Mildred.
“Ts that Nan?”

“Yes; that is Nan Redfurn,—Stephen’s wife. That
is their great net that she has over her arm. They are
going to draw the oval pond, I think. We can watch
their sport nicely here. They cannot see an inch
of us.”

“But we do not like that they should watch us,”
said Mildred, drawing back. ‘We should not like to
know that they were peeping at us from behind a
hedge.”

“We should not mind it if we were not afraid of
them,” replied Oliver. “It is because they plot mis-
chief that we cannot bear their prying. We are not
going to do them any mischief, you know ; and they
caunot mean to make any secret of what they are
doing in the middle of the carr, with high ground all
about it.”

Satisfied by this, Mildred crouched down, with her
arm about her brother’s neck, and saw the great net
cast, and the pond almost emptied of its fish—some
few being kept for food, and the small fry—especially
of the stickleback—being thrown into heaps, to be
sold for manure.

“Will they come this way when they have done
NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 25

drawing the pond?” asked Mildred, in some fear, as
she saw them moving about.

“T think they will sweep the shallow waters, there
to the left, for more stickleback,” replied Oliver.
“They will make up a load, to sell before the heat of
the day, before they set about anything else.”

Oliver was right. All the three repaired to the
shallow water, and stood among the reeds, so as to be
half hidden. The children could see, however, that
when little George came down the garden, shouting to
them to come to breakfast, the strangers took heed to
the child. They turned their heads for a moment
towards the garden, and then spoke together and
laughed.

“There, now!” cried Oliver, vexed: “that is all
because we forgot to go to breakfast. So much for
my not having a watch! Mother need not have
sent George to make such a noise ; but, if-I had hada
watch, he would not have come at all; and these
people would not have been put in mind of us.”

“You will soon be able to have a watch now, like
the boys in Holland,” said Mildred. “Your alabaster
things will change away for a watch ; will not they?
But we might not have remembered breakfast, if you
had had a watch.”

“We are forgetting it now,” said Oliver, catching
up George, and running to the house, followed by Mil-
dred, who could not help feeling as if Roger was at
her heels.

They were surprised to find how late it was. Their
father was already gone with Pastor Dendel’s load of
manure. Their mother only waited to kiss them
before she went, and to tell them that their father

1”?
26 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

meant to be back as soon as he could; and that,
meantime, neighbour Gool had promised to keep an
eye on the mill. If anything happened to frighten
them, Oliver or Ailwin had only to set the mill-
sails agoing, and neighbour Gool and his men would
be with them presently. She did not think, however,
that anything would happen in the little time that
their father would be away.

“J will tell you what we will do!” cried Oliver,
starting from his chair, after he had been eating his
bread and milk, in silence, for some time after his
mother’s departure. “ Let us dress up a figure to look
like father, and set him at the mill-window ; so that
those Redfurns shall not find out that he is away.
Wont that be good?”

“Put him on the mill-steps. They may not look
up at the window.”

“The mill-steps, then. Where is father’s old hat?
Put it on the broom there, and see how it looks. Run
up to the mill, dear, and bring his jacket—and his
apron,” he shouted as his sister ran.

Mildred brought both, and they dressed up the
broom.

“That will never do,” said Mildred. “Look how
the sleeves hang; and how he holds his head! It is
not a bit like a man.”

“Tis a good scarecrow,” declared Ailwin. “TI have
seen many a worse scarecrow than that.”

“But this is to scare the Redfurns, and they are far
wiser than crows,” said Mildred. “ Look how George
pulls ati the apron, and tugs at the broomstick behind !
It does not scare even him.”

“Tt will look very different on the steps—in the
NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 27

open air,” Oliver declared. “A bunch or two of
straw in the sleeves, and pndee the jacket, will make
it seem ali alive.”

And he carried it out, and tied it upon the mill-
steps. It was no easy matter to fasten it so as to
make it look at all like a man naturally mounting
stairs. The more difficult it was, however, the more
_they all became interested in the business, Mildred
brought straw, and Ailwin tied a knot here, and
another knot there, while Oliver cocked the hat in
various directions upon the head, till they all forgot
what they were dressing up the figure for. The rea-
son popped into Ailwin’s head again, when she had
succeeded in raising the right arm to the rail, in a
very life-like manner.

“There !” said she, stepping backwards to view her
work, “that makes a very good master forme. I will
obey him in everything he bids me till master comes
home.”

At the same moment, she walked backwards against
something, and little George clung screaming to Mil-
dred’s knees. Roger had spread his arms for Ailwin
to walk back into; and Stephen was behind, leaning
against the cowsked. They had been watching all that
the party had been doing, and, having overhear
every word, had found out the reason.

The children saw at once Low very foolish they had
been ; and the thought confused them so much, that
they did not know what to do next. Poor Ailwin,
who could never learn wisdom, more or less, now
made matters worse by all she said and did. Stout
and strong as she was, she could do nothing, for Roger
had taken the hint she had given by walking back-
28 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

wards, with her arms crossed: behind her: he had
pinioned her. She cried out to Oliver to run up, and
set the mill-sails agoing, to bring neighbour Gool.
Stephen took this second hint. He quietly swung
Oliver off the steps, sent down his scarecrow after him,
and himself took his seat on the threshold of the
mill. There he sat, laughing to see how Ailwin
wearied herself with struggles, while Roger, by merely
hanging on her arms, prevented her getting free.
When, however, Oliver flew at the boy, and struck
him some fierce blows, Stephen came down, drove the
little girl and the baby into the house, and locked
them in, and then went to help Roger with his strong
arm.

It was clear to Mildred what she ought to do.
Crying as she was, she put George in a corner, with
some playthings, to keep him from the fire till she
came to him again, and then mounted the stairs, as
quickly as her trembling limbs would let her,—first
to her mother’s room, and then out upon the roof. She
tied a large red handkerchief of her mother’s upon her
father’s Sunday walking-stick, and then waved it, as
high as she could hold it, above her head, while she
considered how she could fasten it; for it would never
do to leave George alone below for many minutes.
Perhaps neighbour Gool had seen it already, and would
soon be here with his men. But, lest he should rot,
she must fix her flag, and trust to Stephen and Roger
not thinking of looking up to the roof from the yard
below. At last, after many attempts, she thrust the
stick into a crevice of the roof, and fixed it with heavy
things round it,—having run down three or four times,
to see that George was safe.
HEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 25

There was indeed no time to be lost, for the intru-
ders below were doing all the mischief they could think
of, short of robbing and burning the premises. The
great tall man, Stephen, strolling about the lower
rooms, found Mrs. Linacre’s knitting, and pulled out
the needles, and unravelled the work. Roger spied a
heap of bulbs on the corner of a high shelf. They
were Mr. Linacre’s rare and valuable tulip-roots,
brought from Holland. Roger cut one of them open,
to see what it looked like, and then threw the whole
lot into the boiler, now steaming over the fire, saying
the family should have a dish the more at dinner to-
day. They got hold of Oliver’s tools, and the cup he
was at work upon. Stephen raised his arm, about to
dash the cup to the ground, when Oliver sprang for-
ward, and said—

“ You shall have it,—you shall have my cup ;—you
don’t know what a beauty it will be, when it is done.
Only let me finish it, and you shall have it in exchange
for the stickleback you caught this morning. The
stickleback will do to manure our garden; and I
am sure you will like the cup, if you will only let
me finish it.”

“Manure your garden, indeed!” cried Stephen,
grufly. “Tl cut up your garden to shreds first.
What business has your garden in our carr? You and
your great landlord will find what it is to set your
outlandish plants growing where our geese ought to
be grazing. We'll show you that we don’t want any
foreigners herc ; and if you don’t like our usage, you
may go home again; and nobody will ery for you
back.”

“We pay for our garden and our mill,” said Oliver
30 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“We wrong nobody, and we werk for our living, and
you are a very cruel man.”

“You pay the king: and the parliament does not
choose that the king should have any more money to
speud against them. Mind you that, boy! And ”

“T am sure I don’t know anything about the king
and the parliament, or any such quarrels,” said Oliver.
“Tt is very hard to punish us for them, it is very
cruel.”

“You shall have reason to call me cruel twenty
times over, if you don’t get away out of our carr,” said
Stephen. “Manure your garden, indeed! Not I!
And you shall not manure another yard in these
Levels. Come here, Roger.”

They went out again into the yard, and Oliver, now
quite overcome, laid down his head on his arms, and
cried bitterly.

“ Here’s your cup, however,” said Ailwin, now re-
leased by Roger’s being employed elsewhere. “ This
bit of plaster is the only thing they have laid hands on
that they have not ruined.”

Oliver started up, and hid his work and tools ina
bundle of straw, in the corner of the kitchen.

“What Mildred will say, I don’t know,” said Ail-
win. “That boy has wrung the neck of her white
hen.”

Oliver was desperate on hearing this. He ran out
to see whether he could not, by any means, get into
the mill, to set the sails agoing: but there were Ste-
phen and Roger, carrying water, which they threw
over all the gypsum that was ground,—floating away
as much as they could of it, and utterly spoiling the
rest, by turning it into a plaster.


4

Q

NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. sl

“Did you ever see the like?” cried Ailwin. “And
there is nothing master is so particular about as keep-
ing that stuff dry. See the woman, too! How Id
like to tug the hair off her head! She looks badly,
poor creature, too.”

Stephen’s wife had, indeed, come up to enjoy the
sport, when she found that no man was on the pre-
mises, and that there was no danger. There she stood,
leaning against a post of the mill, her black, untidy
hair hanging about her pale, hollow cheeks, and her
lean arms crossed upon her bosom.

“There were such ague-struck folk to be seen at
every turn,” said Ailwin, “before the foreigners came
to live in the carr. I suppose they brought some heal-
ing with them ; for one does not often see now such a
poor creature as that. She might be ashamed of
herself,—that woman; she laughs all her poor sides
can, at every pailful Roger pours out.—Eh! but
she’s not laughing now! Eh! what’s the matter
now ?”

The matter was that neighbour Gool was in sight,
with three or four men. A cheer was heard from
them while they were still some way off. Oliver ran
out and cheered, waving his hat over his head. Ailwin
cheered, waving a towel out of the window. Mildred
cheered from the roof, waving her red flag ; and George
stood in the doorway, shouting and clapping his little
hands.

If the object was to catch the trespassers, all this
cheering took place a little too soon. Stephen and
Roger were off, like their own wild ducks,—over the
garden hedge, and out of sight. Neighbour Gool
declared that if they were once fairly among the reeds
32 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

in the marsh, it would be sheer waste of time to search
for them ; for they could dodge and live in the water,
in a way that honest people that lived on proper hard
ground could not follow. Here was the woman; and
yonde: was the tent. Revenge might be taken that
way, better than by ducking in the ponds after the
man and boy. Suppose they took the woman to
prison, and made a great fire in the carr, of the tent
and everything in it!

Oliver did not see that it could make up to them
for what they had lost, to burn the tent; and he was
pretty sure his father would not wish such a thing to
be done. His father would soon be home. As for the
woman, he thought she ought to go to prison, if Mr.
Gool would take her there.

“That I will,” said Gool. “I will go through with
the thing now lam in it. I came off the minute I
saw your red flag; and I might have been here sooner,
if I had not been so full of watching the mill-sails,
that I never looked off from them till my wife came
to help to watch. Come, you woman,” said he to Nan
Redfurn, “make no faces about going to prison, for I
am about to give you a ride there.”

“She looks very ill,” thought Oliver,—“ not fit to be
jolted on a horse.”

“You'll get no magistrate to send me tc prison,”

“said the woman. “The justices are with the parlia-
ment, every one. You will only have to bring me
back, and be sorry you caught me, when you see what
comes of it.”

“Cannot we take care of her here till father comes
home?” said Oliver, secing that neighbour Gool looked
perplexed, and as if he believed what the woman said.
NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 33

“No, no,” said Mildred, whispering to her brother.
* Don’t let that woman stay here.”

“Neighbour Gool will take care of us till father
comes home,” said Oliver: “and the woman looks
so ill! We can lock her up here; and, you see,
Ailwin is ever so much stronger than she is, poor
thing !”

Neighbour Gool put on an air of being rather
offended that nothing great was to be done, after his
trouble in coming to help. In his heart, however, he
was perhaps not very sorry ; for he knew that the ma-
gistrates were not willing to countenance the king’s
settlers in the Levels, while the Parliament Committee
was sitting at Lincoln. Gool patted Oliver's head
when the boy thanked him for coming; and he joked
Mildred about her flag: so he could not be very cross.
He left two men to guard the prisoner and the pre-
mises, till Mr. Linacre should return.

These two men soon left off marching about the
garden and yard, and sat down on the mill-steps ; for
the day grew very hot. There they sat, talking in
the shade, till their dinners should be ready. Nan
Redfurn was so far from feeling the day to be hot,
that when her cold ague-fit came on, she begged to be
allowed to go down to the kitchen fire. Little George
stood staring at her for some time, and then ran away ;
and Mildred, not liking to be in the same room with a
woman who looked as she did, and who was a prisoner,
stole out too, though she had been desired to watcli
the woman till dinner should be ready. Ailwin was
so struck with compassion, that she fetched her warmest
woollen stocki~z3, and her winter cloak of linsey-
woolsey,—it waz such a piteous thing to hear a woman's

3
34 THE SETTLERS AT HOLE.

teeth chattering in her head, in that way, at noon in
the middle of August. Having wrapped her up, she
put her on a stool, close to the great kitchen fire; and
drew out the screen that was used only in winter, to
keep off the draughts from the door. If the poor soul
was not warm in that corner, nothing could make her
so. Then Ailwin began to sing, to cheer her heart,
wd to be amazingly busy in cooking dinner for three
additional persons. She never left off her singing but
when she went out for the vegetables, and other
things she wanted for her cooking; and when she
gaine in again, she resumed her song,—still for the
sake of the poor creature behind the screen.

“Do you feel yourself warmer now, neighbour ?”
said she, at the end of an hour. “If not, you are past
my understanding.”

There was no answer ; and Ailwin did not wonder,
as she said to herself, that it was too great a trouble
for one so poorly to be answering questions : so Ailwin
went on slicing her. vegetables and singing.

“Do you think a drop of cherry-brandy would warm
you, neighbour?” she asked, after a while. “TI wonder
I never thought of that before; only, it is a sort of
thing one does not recollect till winter comes. Shall
I get you a sup of cherry-brandy ?” .

Ai}win thought it so odd that such an offer as this
hhould not be replied to, that she looked hastily
behind the sereen, to see what could be the reason.
There was reason enough. Nobody was there. Nan
Redfurn had made her way out as soon as she found
herself alone, and was gone, with Ailwin’s best winter
stockings and linsey-woolsey cloak.

Ia 5 minute the whole party were looking over the
NUIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 35

hedge into the marsh. Nothing was to be seen but
the low brown tent, and the heap of little fish.
Neither man, woman, nor boy appeared when their
names were shouted forth,

“Oh! my best stockings!” said Ailwin, half crying.

“You have saved your cherry-brandy, my woman ;
that is certain,” observed one of Gool’s men.

“T shall never have any pleasure in it,” sighed the
maid. “I shall never enjoy it, on account of its
reminding me how yon woman has fooled me.”

“Then we will save you that pain,” said the man.
“Tf you will oblige us with it to-day, we wont leave
any to pain you in the winter.”

“For shame!” cried Oliva, “when you know she
has lost her stockings and her cloak already ; and all
out of kindness! I would not drink a drop of her
cherry-brandy, I am sure.”

“Then you shall, Oliver, for saying so, and taking
my part,” said Ailwin. “Iam not going to give it

‘to any one else that has not the ague ; some people
may be assured of that.”

“Tf I thought there was any cherry-brandy for me
when I came back,” said the man, throwing a stone
down, to try the nature of the bog-ground beneath,
“J would get below there, and try what I could find:
I might lay hold of a linsey-woolsey cloak somewhere ©
im the bog.”

“You can never catch the Redfurns, I doubt,” said
Ailwin. “What was it they said to you, Oliver, as
they were going off?”

“They laughed at me for not being able to catch
eels, and asked how I thought I should catch them.

3—a
36 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

They said, when I could decoy wild-fow], I might set
a trap for the Redfurns. But it does not follow that
that is all true because they said it. I don’t see but
they might be caught, if there was any one to do us
justice afterwards. That's the worst part of it, father
says.”

“There’s father!” cried Mildred, as the crack of a
whip was heard. All started off, as if to see who
could carry bad news fastest. All arrived in the yard
together, except Ailwin, who turned back to take up
George, as he roared at being left behind.

“We must want a wise head or two among us,” said
the vexed miller. “If we were as sharp as these
times require, we surely could not be at the mercy of
folk we should scorn to be like. We must give more
heed, and see what is to be done.”

“Rather late for that, neighbour, when here is the
stock you were grinding and grinding for a week, all
gone to plaster,” said one of Gool’s men.

“That is what I say,” replied the miller, contem-
plating the waste ; “ but it may be better late than not
at all.”

Mrs. Linacre was more affected than her husband
by what had happened. When she came home, poor
Mildred’s fortitude had just given way, and she was
crying over the body of her dear white hen. This caused
Ailwin’s eyes to fill at the thought of her stockings
and cloak, so that the family faces looked cheerless
enough. ‘

“We deserve it all,” said Mrs. Linacre, “for leav-
ing our place and our children to the care of Gool’s
men, or of anybody but ourselves. I will go no more
uw ‘re spring. I have been out of my duty; and we
NEIGHBOURLY OFFICES. 3”

may be thankful that we have been no further
punished.”

As she spoke, a few tears started. Her tears were
so rare, that the children looked in dismay at thein
father.

He gently declared that the more injury they
suffered from the country people, the more they
needed all the earnings they could make. They must
cling to the means of an honest maintenance, and not
throw away such an employment as hers. He would
not leave the children again while the Redfurns were
in the neighbourhood. He would not have left them
to-day, to serve any one but the pastor ; nor to serve
even him, if he had not thought he had bespoken
sufficient protection. Nothing should take him from
home, or his eye off the children, to-morrow, she might
depend upon it.

Mrs. Linacre said that if she must go, she should
take a heavy heart with her. This was, she feared,
but the first of a fresh series of attacks. If so, what
might not they look for next? However, she only
asked to be found in her duty. If her husband desired
her to go, she would go; but she should count over
the hours of the day sadly enough.

Oliver ventured to bring up an old subject. He
said, what he most wanted was to have earned money
enough to get a watch. He was sure he could hide it
so that Roger should never guess he had one; and it
would be such a comfort to know exactly how the
time was going, and when to look.for his mother home,
instead of having to guess, in cloudy weather, the
hour of the day, and to argue the matter with Ailwin
who was always wrong about that particular thing.
38 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

His father smiled mourafully, as he observed, that
he hoped Oliver would never so want bread as to
leave off longing for anything made of gold or silver.



CHAPTER IIL
ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR.

Mrs. Liyacre went to the spring as usual, the next,
morning. If the weather had been doubtful—if there
had been any pretence for supposing that the day
might not be fine, she would have remained at home.
But she looked in vain all round the sky for a cloud ;
and the wide expanse of fields and meadows in the
Levels, with their waving corn and fresh green grass,
seemed to bask in the sunshine, as if they felt its
luxury. It was a glowing August day ;—just such a
day as would bring out the invalids from Gainsborough
to drink the waters ;—just such a day as would tempt
the traveller to stop under the shady shed, where he
could see waters bubbling up, and taste of the famous
medicinal spring, which would cure the present evil of
heat, whatever effect it might have on any more
lasting ailment. It was just the day when Mrs.
Linacre must not be missed from her post, and when it
would be wrong to give up the earnings which she
might expect before sun-down. So she desired her
children not to leave the premises,—not even to go
out of their father’s sight and hearing; and left
them, secure, at least, that they would obey her
wishes.

They were quite willing-to do so. ‘Mildred looked
behind her, every few minutes, while she worked in
ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR 39

the garden, to see whether Roger was not there: and
at every rustle that the birds made among the trees
on the Red-hill,—the eminence behind the house,—
she fancied that some one was hidden there. Oliver
let his tools and his alabaster lie hidden, much as he
longed to be at work with them. Mildred had lost
her greatest treasure,—the white hen. He must take
care of his greatest treasure. Twice, in the course of
the morning, he went in, having thought o! a safer
place ; and twice more, he put them back among the
straw, as safest there, after all. He let them alone at
last, on Mildred saying that she was afraid Roger
might somehow discover why he went in and out so
often.

They ran to the mill three or four times to tell their
father that the brown tent was still under the bank in
the carr, and that they could see nobody ; though the
wild-ducks and geese made such a fluttering and noise,
now and then, that it seemed as if some one was lurk-
ing about the ponds. Often in the course of the morn-
ing, too, did Mr. Linacre look out of the mill window,
or nod to them from the top of the steps, that they
might see that he did not forget them.—Meantime, the
white smoke curled up from the kitchen chimney, as
Ailwin cooked the dinner ; and little George’s voice
and hers were often heard from within, as if they were
having some fun together.

The children were very hot, and began to say that
they were hungry, and thought dinner-time was near,
when they suddenly felt a strong rush of wind from
the west. Oliver lost his cap, anc was running after
it, when both heard a loud shout from their father, and
looked up. They had never heard him shent so loud
40 Siig SETTLERS AT HOME,

as he now did, bidding them run up the Red-hill that
moment. He waved his arm and his cap in that direc-
tion, as if he was mad. Mildred scampered up the
hill. She did not know why, nor what was the mean-
ing of the rolling, roaring thunder which seemed to
convulse the air: but her head was full of Roger ;
and she thought it was some mischief of his. One
part of the Red-hill was very steep, and the ground
soft. Her feet slipped on the moss first ; and when
she had got above the moss, the red earth crumbled ;
and she went back at every step, till she caught hold
of some brambles, and then of the trunk of a tree; so
that, trembling and panting, she reached at last the
top of the eminence.

When she looked round, she saw a rushing, roaring
river where the garden had been, just before. Rough
waters were dashing up against the hill on which she
stood,—against the house.—and against the mill. She
saw the flood spreading, as rapidly as the light at sun-
rise, over the whole expanse of the Levels. She saw
another flood bursting in from the Humber, on the
north-east, and meeting that which had just swept
by ;—-she saw the two floods swallowing up field
after field, meadow after meadow, splashing up against
every house, and surrounding all, so that the roofs,
and the stacks beside them, looked like so many little
islands. She saw these things in.a moment, but did not
heed them till afterwards,—for, where was Oliver ?

Oliver was safe, though it was rather a wonder that
he was so, considering his care for his cap. Oliver
was an orderly boy, accustomed to take great care of
his things ; and it did not occur to him to let his cap:
49, when he had to run for his life. He had to part
ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 41

with it, however. He was flying after it, when another
shout from his father made him look round ; and then
he saw the wall of water, as ne called it, rolling on
directly upon the house. He gave a prodigious spring
across the garden ditch, and up the hill-side, and but
just escaped ; for the wind which immediately pre-
ceded the flood blew him down ; and it was clinging
to the trunk of a tree that saved him, as his sister had
been saved just before. As it was, his feet were wet.
Oliver panted and trembled, like his sister ; but he
was safe.

Every one was safe. Ailwin appeared at an upper
window, exhibiting little George. Mr. Linacre stood,
with folded arms, in the doorway of his mill ; and his
wife was (he was thankful to remember) on the side
of a high hill, far away. The children and their father
knew, while the flood was roaring between them, what
all were thinking of; and at the same moment, the
miller and his boy waved, the one his hat, and the
other a green bough, high and joyously over their
heads. Little George saw this from the window, and
clapped his hands, and jumped, as Ailwin held him on
the window sill.

“Look at Geordie!” cried Mildred. “Do look at
him! Don’t you think you hear him now?”

This happy mood could not last very long, however,
as the waters, instead of going down, were evidently
rising every moment. From the first, the flood had
been too deep and rapid to allow of the miller cross-
ing from his mill to his house. He was a poor
swimmer ; and no swimmer, he thought, could have
avoided being carried away into the wide marsh, where
there was no help. Then, instead of the stream slack-
42 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

ening, it rushed more furiously as it rose,—rose first
over the wall of the yard, and up to the fourth—
fifth—sixth step of the mill ladder, and then almost
into the branches of the apple-trees in the garden.

“T hope you will not mind being hungry, Mildred,”
said her brother, after a time of silence. “ We arenot
likely to have any dinner to-day, I think.”

“TJ don’t mind that very much,” said Mildred, “but
how do you think we are to get away, with this great
river between us and home ?”

“We shall see what father does,” said Oliver. “He
is further off still, on the other side.”

“But what is all this water ? When will it go away?”

“T am afraid the embankments have burst. And
yet the weather has been fine enough lately. Perhaps
the sluices are broken up.”

Seeing that Mildred did not understand the more
for what he said, he explained—

“You know, all these Levels were watery grounds
once ; more wet than the carr yonder. Well,—great
clay banks were made to keep out the Humber waters,
over there, to the north-east, and on the west and
north-west yonder, to keep two or three rivers there
from overflowing the Jand. Then several canals and
ditches were cut, to drain the land ; and there are
great gates put up, here and there, to let the waters in
and out, as they are wanted. J am afraid those gates
are gone, or the clay banks broken down, so that the sea
and the rivers are pouring in all the water they have.”

“But when will it be over? Will it ever run off
again? Shall we ever get home again ?”

“T do not know anything about it. We must wait, and
watch what father will do. See! what is this coming ?”
ON WAY OF MAKING WAR. 43

« A dead horse!” exclaimed Mildred. *' irowned,
I suppose. Don’t you think so, Oliver ?”

“ Drowned, of course.—Do you know, Mildred,” he
continued, after a silence, during which he was looking
towards the sheds in the yard, while his sister’s eyes
were following the body of the horse as it was swept
along, now whirled round in an eddy, and now going
clear over the hedge into the carr,—“do you know,
Mildred,” said Oliver, “I think father will be com-
pletely ruined by this flood.” :

“Do you?” said Mildred, who did not quite know
what it was to be ruined. “How? Why?”

“Why, it was bad enough that so much gypsum was
spoiled yesterday. Iam afraid now the whole quarry
will be spoiled. And then I doubt whether the har-
vest will not be ruined all through the Levels: and
I am pretty sure nothing will be growing in the
garden when the waters are gone. That was not our
horse that went by; but ow horse may be drowned,
and the cow, and the sow, and everything.”

“Not the fowls,” said Mildred. “Look at them, all
in a row on the top of the cow-shed. They will not be
drowned, at any rate.”

“ But then they may be starved. O dear!” he con-
tinued, with a start of recollection, “I wonder whe-
ther Ailwin has thought of moving the meal and the
grain up-stairs. It will be all rotted and spoiled if
the water runs through it.”

He shouted, and made signs to Ailwin, with all his
might: but in vain. She could not hear a word he
said, or make anything of his signs. He was vexed,
and said Ailwin was always stupid.

““So she is,” replied Mildred ; “but it does not sig-
44 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

nify now. Look how the water is pouring out of the
parlour window. The mealand grain must have been
wet through long ago. Is not that a pretty water-
fall? A waterfall from our parlour. window, down
upon the tulip-bed! How very odd!”

“ Tf one could think how to feed these poor animals,”
said Oliver,—“ and the fowls! If there was anything
here that one could get for them! One might cuta
little grass for the cow ;—but there i is nothing else.”

“ Only the leaves: of the trees, and a few blackber-
ries, when they are ripe,” said Mildred, looking round
her, “and flowers,—wild-flowers, and a few that mo-

ther planted.”

“The bees! cried Oliver. “Let us save them.
They can feed themselves. We will save the bees.”

“Why, you don’t think they are drowned?” said
Mildred.

The bees were not drowned ; but they were in more
danger of it than Mildred supposed. Their little shed
was placed on the side of the Red-hill, so as to over-
look the flowery garden. The waters stood among the
posts of this shed; and the hives themselves shook
with every wave that rolled along.

“You cannot do it, Oliver,” cried Mildred, as her
brother crept down the slope to the back of the shed.
“You can never get round, Oliver. You will slip in,
Oliver !” .

Oliver looked round and nodded, as there was no
use in speaking in such a noise. He presently showed
that he did not mean to go round to the front of the
shed. That would never have done ; for the flood had
washed away the soil there, and left nothing to stand
upon. He broke away the boards at the back of the
ONE WAY Of MAKING WAL. 45

bee-shed, which were old and loosely fastened. He
was glad he had come; for tne bees were bustling
about in great confusion and distress, evidently aware
that something great was the matter. Oliver seized
one of the hives, with the board it stood on, and car-
ried it, as steadily as he could, to a sunny part of the
hill, where he put it down on the grass. He then
went for another, asking Mildred to come part of the
way down to receive the second hive, and put it by
the first, as he saw there was not a moment to lose.
She did so; but she trembled so much, that it was
probable she would have let the hive fall, if it had '
ever been in her hands. It never was, however. The
soil was now melting away in the water, where Oliver
had stood firmly but a few minutes before. He had
to take great care, and to change his footing every
instant; and it was not without slipping and slid-
ing, and wet feet, that he brought away the second
hive. Mildred saw how hot he was, as he sat resting,
with the hive, before climbing the bank, and begged
that he would not try any more.

“These poor becs !” exclaimed Oliver, beginning to
move again, on the thought of the bees being drowned.
But he had done all he could. The water boiled up
between the shed and the bank, lifted the whole struc-
ture, and swept it away. Oliver hastened to put down
the second hive beside the first; and when he re-
turned, saw that the posts had sunk, the boards were
floating away, and the remaining hive itself sailing
down the stream.

“ How it rocks!” cried Mildred. “I wish it would
turn quite over, so that the poor things might get
vut, and fly away,”
&& THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“They never will,” said Oliver. “TI wish I had
thought of the bees a little sooner. It is very odd iat
you did not, Mildred.” : |

“T don’t know how to think of anything,” said Mil-
dred, dolefully ; “it is all so odd and so frightful !”

“Well, don’t cry, if you can help it, dear,” said her
brother. “We shall see what father will do. He
wont cry ;—I am sure of that.”

Mildred laughed: for she never had seen her father
cry. |

“He was not far off crying yesterday, though,” said
Oliver, “when he saw your poor hen lying dead. He
looked but, O Mildred! what can have become of
the Redfurns? We have been thinking all this while
about the bees; and we never once remembered the
Redfurns. Why, their tent was scarcely bigger than
our hives ; and I am sure it could not stand a minute
against the flood.” )

While he spoke, Oliver was running to the part of
the hill which commanded the widest view of the
carr, and Mildred was following at his heels,—a good
deal startled by the hares which leaped across her
vath. There seemed to be more hares now on the hili
than she had seen in all her life before. She could not
ask about the hares, however, when she saw the brown
tent, or a piece of it, flapping about in the water, a
great way off, and sweeping along with the current.

“Hark! what was that? Did you hear?’ said
Oliver, turning very pale.

“T thought I heard a child crying, a great way off,
said Mildred, trembling. ,

“Tt was not a child, dear. It was a shriek,—a
woman’s shriek, I am afraid. Iam afraid it is Nan


ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 47

Redfurn, somewhere in the carr. O dear, if they
should all be drowned, and nobody there to help
them !”

“No no,—I don’t believe it,” said Mildred. “ They
have got up somewhere,—climbed up something,—
that bank or something.”

They heard nothing more, amidst the dash of the
flood, and they fancied they could see some figures
moving on the ridge of the hank, far out over the carr.
When they were tired of straining their eyes, they
looked about them, and saw, in a smoother piece of
water near their hill, a dog swimming, and seeming to
labour very much.

“Tt has got something fastened to it,” cried Mil-
dred ;—* something tied round its neck.”

“Tt is somebody swimming,” replied Oliver. “ They
will get safe here now. Cannot we help them? I
wish Thad arope! A long switch may do. I will get
a long switch.”

“Yes, cut a long switch,” cried Mildred: and she
pulled and tugged at a long tough thorny bramble, not
minding its pricking her fingers and tearing her frock.
She could not help starting at the immense number
of large birds that flew out, and rabbits that ran away
between her feet, while she was about it; but she
never left hold, and dragged the long bramble down
to the purt of the hill that the dog seemed to be
trying to reach. Oliver was already there, holding
a slip of ash, such as he had sometimes cut for a
fishing-rod.

“It is Roger, I do believe ; but I see nothing of the
others,” said he. “ Look at his head, as it bobs up and
down. Is it not Roger?”
48 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“O dear! I hope not!” cried Mildred, in a tone of
despair. “ What shall we do if he comes?”

“We must see that afterwards: we must save him
first. Now for it!”

As Oliver spoke, the dog ducked, and came up
again without Roger, swimming lightly to the bank,
and leaping ashore with a bark. Roger was there,
however,—very near, but, they supposed, exhausted,
for he seemed to fall back, and sink, on catching hold
of Oliver’s switch, and by the jerk twitched it out of
the boy’s hand.

“Try again !” shouted Oliver, as he laid Mildred’s
bramble along the water. “Don’t let go, Mildred.”

Mildred let the thorns run deep into her fingers
without leaving her hold. Roger grasped the other
end; and they pulled, without jerking, and with all
their strength, till he reached the bank, and they
could help him out with their hands.

“ Oh, I am so glad you are safe, Roger !” said Oliver.

“You might have found something better then that
thorny switch to throw me,” said Roger. “My hands
are all blood with the spikes.”

“Look at hers!” cried Oliver, intending to show
the state that his sister’s hands were in, for Roger’s
sake; but Mildred pulled away her hands, and hid
them behind her as she retreated, saying,

“No, no. Never mind that now.”

Oliver saw how drenched the poor boy looked, and
forgave whatever he might say. He asked Mildred to
go back to the place where they had been standing,
opposite the house ; and he would come to her there
presently. He then begged Roger to slip off his coat
and trousers, that they might wring the wet out of
ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 43

them. He thought they would soon dry in the sun.
But Roger pushed him away with his shoulder, and
sald he knew what he wanted ;—he wanted to see
what he had got about him. He would knock any-
body down who touched his pockets. It was plain
that Roger did not choose to be helped in any way ; s0
Oliver soon ran off, and joined Mildred, as he had
promised.

“T do not like to leave him, all wet, and so tired
that I could knock him over with my little finger,”
exclaimed Oliver. ‘“ But he wont trust me about any
thing.”

“ There is father again! Tell him,” cried Mildred.

Both children showvited that Roger was here, and
pointed behind them ; but it was plain that their father
could not make out a word they said, though they had
never called out so loud in their lives. Roger heard
them, however, as they judged by seeing him skulking
among the trees behind, watching what use they were
making of his name.

The children thought their father was growing very
anxious. He still waved his hat to them, now and
then, when he looked their way; but they saw him
gazing abroad, asif surprised that the rush of waters
did not abate. They observed him glance often round
the sky, as if for signs of wind; and they longed to
know whether he thought a wind would do good or
harm. They saw him bring out, for the third time, a
rope which he had seemed to think too short to be of
any use; and this appeared to be the case, now as
at first. Then he stooped down, as if to make a mark
on the side of the white door-post (for the water had
by this time quite hidden the steps); and Oliver

4
$0 THE SETTLERS AT Host,

thought this was to make out, for certain, whether te
flood was regularly rising or not. They could not
imagine why he examined so closely as they saw him.
do the door lintel, and the window-frame. It did not
occur to them, as it did to him, that the mill might
break down under the force of the current.

At last, it was clear that he saw Roger; and from
that moment, he scarcely took his eyes from his chil-
dren. Oliver put his arm round Mildred’s neck, and
said in her ear,

“I know what father is watching us for. He is
afraid that Stephen is here too, and no one to take
care of us ;—not even Ailwin.”

“Perhaps Stephen is here,—in the wood,” cried
Mildred, in terror. “I wish this water would make
haste, and run away, and let us get home.”

“Tt cannot run faster than it does. Look how the
waves dash along! That is the worst of it :—it shows
what a quantity there is, where this came from. But
I don’t believe Stephen is here. I have a good mind
to ask Roger, and make him tell me.”

“No, don’, Oliver ! Stephen may be drowned. Do
not put him in mind.”

“ Why, you see he does not care for anything, He
is teazing some live thing at this minute,—there, on
the ground.”

Oliver himself forgot everything but the live
animals before his eyes, when he saw how many there
were under the trees. The grass was swarming with
mice, moles, and small snakes; while rabbits cocked
up their little white tails, in all directions, and pavr-
tridges flew out of every bush, and hares started from
every hollow that the boy looked into.
x

CSE WAY OF MAKING Wat, t

“ All soaked cut of their holes ;—don’t know what
to do with themselves ;—fine sport for those that have
a mind to it,” said Roger, as he lay on the ground,
pulling back a little mouse by its long tail, as often as
it tried to run away.

“You. have no mind for sport to-day, I suppose,
Roger. I should not think anybody has.”

“T don’t know;—I’m rarely hungry,” said the boy.

“So were we; but we forgot it again. Father is in
the mill there . . .”

“ You need not tell me that. Don’t I see him?”

“But we think he is looking out for Stephen.”

“He wont find him,” said Roger, in a very low
voice ;—so low that Oliver was not sure what he said.

“ He is not here on the hill, then, Roger ?”

“On the hill—no! I don’t know where he is, nor
the woman either. I suppose they are drowned, as I
was, nearly. If they did not swim as I did, they must
be drowned: and they could hardly do that, as I had
the dog.”

The children looked at each other ; and their looks
told that they thought Roger was shocked and sorry,
though he tried not to appear so.

“There might have been a boat, perhaps, out on
the carr. Don’t you think the country people in the
hills would get out boats when they saw the flood
spreading ?”

“ Boats, no! The hill-people have not above three
boats among them all. There are about three near the
ponds ; and they are like nut-shells. How should any
boat live in such a flood as that? Why, that flood
would sweep a ship out to seain a minute. You neeg
net think about boats, I can tell you.”

42
52 TILE SETTLEKS AT HOME.

“ But wont anybody send a boat for us? mquired
Mildred, who had drawn near to listen. “If they
don’t send a boat, aud the flood goes on, what are we
todo? We can’t live here, with nothing to eat, and
no beds, and no shelter, if it should rain.”

“ Are you now beginning to cry about that? Are
you now beginning to find that out, after all this
time ?” said Roger, contemptuously.

“T thought we should get away,” sobbed the little
girl. “T thought a boat or something would come.”

“A pretty silly thing you must be!” exclaimed
Roger.

“If she is silly, I am sillv too,” declared Oliver.
“T am not sure that it is silly to look for a boat,
There are plenty out on the coast there.”

“They are all dashed to pieces long ago.” decided
Roger. “ And they that let in the flood will take
good care you don’t get out of it,—you, and your out-
landers. It is all along of you that I am in this
scrape. But it was shameful of them not to give us
notice ;—it was too bad to catch us in the same trap
with you. If uncle is drowned, and I ever get out
alive, I will be revenged on them.”

Mildred stopped erying, as well as she could, to
listen ; but she felt like Oliver when he said,—

“T don’t know a word of what you mean.”

“T dare say not. You foreigners never know any-
thing like other people.”

“ But wont you tell us? Who made this flood ?”

“To be sure, you wern’t meant to know this. It
would not have done to show you the way out of the
trap. Why—the Parliament Committee at Lincoln
ordered the Snow-sewer sluice to be pulled up to-day,
ONE WAY OF MAKING WAR. 53

to drown the king’s lands, and get rid of his
tenants. It will be as good as a battle gained to
them.”

The children were aghast at the wickedness of this
deed. They would not believe it. It would have
been tyrannical and cruel to have obliged the settlers,
who were not interested in a quarrel between the king
of England and his people, to enlist, and be shot down
in war. They would have complained of this as
tyrannical and cruel. But, when they were living in
peace and quiet on their farms, paying their rents,
and inclined to show good-will to everybody, to pull
up the flood-gates, and let in the sea and the rivers to
drown them because they lived in the king’s lands,
was a cruelty too dreadful to be believed. Oliver and
Mildred did not believe it. They were sure their
father would not believe it; and that their mother, if
ever she should return to her home and family, would
bring avery different account—that the whole mis-
fortune would turn out to be accidental. So they
felt assured : but the fact was as Roger had said. The
Snow-sewer sluice had been pulled up, by the orders
of the Committee of the Parliament, then sitting at
Lincoln : and it was done to destroy the king’s new
lands, and deprive him of the support of his tenants.
The jealous country-people round hoped also that it
would prevent foreigners from coming to live in Eng-
land, however much they might want such a refuge.

Some of the sufferers knew how their misfortune
happened. Others might be thankful that they did
not ; for the thought of the malice of their enemies
must have been more bitter than the fear of ruin and

death.
54 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

CHAPTER IV.
A HUNGRY DAY.

“We shall see what father does,” was still the conso-
lation with which Oliver kept down his sister’s fears.
He had such confidence in his father’s knowing what
was best to be done on all occasions, that he felt they
had only to watch him, and imitate whatever he
might attempt. They remained quiet on the island
now, hungry and tired as they were, because he re-
mained in the mill, and seemed to expect the water
to subside. The most fearful thought was what they
were to do after dark, if they should not get home
before that. They supposed, at last, that their father
was thinking of this too; for he began to move about,
when the sun was near setting, more than he had
done all the afternoon.

They saw him go carefully down into the stream,
and proceed cautiously for some way—till the water
was up to his chin. Then he was buffeted about so
terribly that Mildred could not bear to look. Both
Oliver and Roger were sure, by what he ventured,
and by the way he pulled himself back at last to the
steps, that he had tied himself by the rope thev had
seen him measure. It was certainly too short for any
good purpose ; for he had to go back, having only
wetted himself to the skin. They saw this by the
yellow light from the west which shone upon the
water. In a few minutes they could distinguish him
no longer, though the mill stood up black against the
sky, and in the midst of the gleaming flood.
A HUNGRY DAY. 55

“Father will be wet, and so cold all night!” said
Mildred, crying.

“Tf I could only swim,” exclaimed Oliver, “J
would get over to him somehow, and carry a rope
from the house. I am sure there must be a rope long
enough somewhere about the yard. If I could only
swim, I would get to him.”

“That you wouldn’t,” said Roger. “Your father
can swim ; and why does not he? Because nobody
could swim across that stream. It is a torrent. It
would carry any stout man out over the carr ; and you -
would be no better than a twig in the middle of it.”

“T am afraid now this torrent will not slacken,”
said Oliver, thoughtfully. “I am afraid there is some
hollow near which will keep up the current.”

«What do you mean by that?”

‘ They say in Holland, where they have floods
sometimes, that when water flows into a hollow, it gets
out in a current, and keeps it up for some way. . Oh!
the quarry!” he cried, with sudden recollection.
“ Mildred, let us go, and look what is doing on that
side before it is dark.”

They ran round the hill ; and there they saw indeed
that the flood was tumbling in the quarry, like water
boiling ina pot. When it rushed out, it carried white
2arth with it, which made a long streak in the flood,
and explained how it was that the stream between
the house and the mill was whiter and more muddy
than that between their hill and the house. At once
it occurred to Roger that the stream between the hill
and the house was probably less rapid than the other ;
and he said so. Oliver ran back ; and so did Mildred,
pleased at the bare idea of getting to the house.
- 66 THE SETTLERS A HOME.

Once more arrived opposite the house, they saw a
strange sight. The mill no longer stood in its right
place. It had moved a good way down towards
the carr. Not only that, but it was still moving. It
was sailing away like aship. After the first exclama-
tion, even Roger stood as still as death to watch it.
He neither moved nor spoke till the mill was out of
sight in the dusk. When Mildred burst into a loud
ery, and Oliver threw himself down, hiding his face
on the ground, Roger spoke again.

“Be quiet—you must,” he said, decidedly, to the
little girl. “We must bestir ourselves now, instead
of stopping to see what other folks will do.”

“Oh, father ! father will be drowned!” cried they.

“You don’t know that. If he drifts out to the
Humber, which is likely, by the way he is going, some
ship may pick him up—or he may light upon some
high ground. We can’t settle that now, however ; and
the clear thing is that he wouldn’t wish us to starve,
whether he drowns or not. Come, get up, lad!” said
he, stirring Oliver with his foot.

“Don't lie there, Oliver; do get up!” begged
Mildred.

Oliver rose, and did all that Roger bade him.

“You say there is a long rope somewhere about the
house,” said Roger. “ Where is it ?”

“There is one in the cowshed, I know.”

“And if I cannot get there, is there one in the
house ?”

“In the lumber-room,” said Mildred. “The spare
bed is tied round and round with a long rope—I don’t
know how long.”

“i wish we had set about it an hour ago,” muttered
A HUNGRY DAY. 57

Roger, “instead of waiting for dark. A pretty set
of fools we have been to lose the daylight! I say,
lad, can you think of any way of making a fire? Here
are sticks enough, if one could set them alight.”

“To cook a supper?” asked Mildred.

“No; I mean to sup within doors; only we must
do some work first.”

Oliver had a steel knife; but it was too dark to
look for a flint, if any other plan than a fire would
do.
“Well, don’t plague any more about a fire,” said
Roger, “but listen to me. Can you climb a tree?
Pll be bound you can’t: and now you'll die if you
can’t.”

“JT can,” said Oliver: “but what is Mildred to
do ?”

“We'll see that afterwards. Which of these trees
stands nearest to the nearest of yon upper windows ?”

Oliver and Mildred pointed out a young ash, which
now quite bent over the water.

“That is not strong enough,” said Roger, shaking
the tree, and nneang it loasenee at the roots. “Show
me a stouter one.’

A well-grown beech was the next nearest. Roger
pulled Oliver by the arm, and made him stand directly
under the tree, with his sister beside him. He desired
them not to move from where they were, and to give
a loud halloo together, or a shriek (or anything that
might be heard furthest)—about once in a minute for
an hour to come, unless they should hear a rope fall
into the meee or anywhere near them. They were to
watch for this rope, and use all their endeavours to
catch it. ‘here would be a weight at the end, which
58 THE SkYTRBERS AT HOMME.

would make it easier to catch. Oliver must tie this
rope to the trunk of the tree, stretching it tight, with
all his strength, and then tying it so securely that ne
weight would unfasten it.

“ Mind you that,” said Roger. “If you don’t, you
wi] be drowned, that’s all. Do as I tell you, and
you'll see what you will see.”

Roger then whistled for his dog, snatched Oliver's
black ribbon from about his neck, and fastened it
round the dog’s neck, to hold by. He then showed
the dog the house, and forced him into the water, him-
self following, till the children could no longer see
what became of them.

“What do you think he means?” asked poor Mil-
dred, shivering.

“YT don’t know exactly. He cannot mean that we
are to climb over by a rope. J do not think I could
do that ; and I am sure you could not.”

“Oh, no, no! Let us stay here! Stay with me
under the trees, here, Oliver.”

“Why, it would be much more comfortable to be
at home by the fire. You are shivering now, already,
as if it was winter: and the night will be very long,
with nothing to eat.”

“ But Roger is gone ; and I don’t like to be where he
is,—he is such a rude boy! How he snatched your
ribbon, and pulled you about! And he calls you ‘lad,’
when he might just as well say ‘ Oliver.’”

“We must not mind such things now, dear. And
we must get home, if he can show us how. Think
how glad Ailwin and George will be: and I am sure
father would wish it, and mother too. You must not
cry now, Mildred; indeed you must not. People
A HUNGRY DAY. 59

must do what they can at such a time as this. Come,
help me to shout. Shrieck as loud and as long as ever
you can.” |

“T wish I might say my prayers,” said Mildred,
presently.

“Do, dear. Kneel down here ;—nobody sees us,
Let us ask God to save father,—and us too, and George
and Ailwin, if it pleases Him :—and Roger.”

They kneeled down, and Oliver said aloud to God
what was in his heart. It was a great comfort to
them both ; for they knew that while no human eye
saw them in the starlight, under the tree, God heard
their words, and understood their hearts.

“Now again !” said Oliver, as they stood up.

They raised a cry about once a minute, as nearly ag
they could guess: and they had given as many as
thirty shouts, and began to find it very hard work, be-
fore anything happened to show them that it was of
any use. Then something struck the tree over their
heads, and pattered down among the leaves, touching
Oliver’s head at last. He felt about, and caught the
end of a rope, without having to climb the tree, to
searcu for it. They set up a shout of a different kind
nov; for they really were very glad. - This shout was
ayswered by a gentle tug at the rope: but Oliver held
fast, determined not to let anything pull the precious
line out of his hand.

“What have we here?” said he, as he felt a parcel
tied to the rope, a httle way from the end. He gave
it to Mildred to untie and open; which she did with
some trouble, wishing the evening was not so dark.

It was a tinder-box.

“There now!” said Oliver, “we shall soon know
60 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

what we are about. Do you know where the tree was
cut down, the other day ?”

“Close by? Yes.”

“Well; bring a lapful of chips,—quick : and then
any dry sticks you can find. We can get on twice as
fast with a light; and then they will see from the
house how we manage.”

In a few minutes, there was a fire blazing near the
tree. The rope must have come straight over from
the house, without dipping once into the water ; for
not only were the flint and steel safe, but the tinder
within, and the cloth that the box was done up in,
were quite dry. |

“Roger is a clever fellow,—that is certain,” said
Oliver. ‘“ Now for fastening the rope! Do you take
care that the fire keeps up. Don’t spare for chips.
Keep a good fire till I have done.”

Oliver gave all his strength to pulling the rope
tight, and winding it round the trunk of the beech,
just above a large knob in the stem. It seemed to
him that the rope stretched pretty evenly, as far as he
could see,—not slanting either up or down ; so that
the sill of the upper window must be about upon a
level with the great knob in the beech-trunk. Oliver
tied knot upon knot, till no more rope was left to knot.
It still hung too slack, if it was meant for a bridge.
He did not think he could ever cross the water on a
rope that would keep him dangling at every move:
but he had pulled it tight with all his force, and he
could do no more. When he had tied the last knot,
he and Mildred stood in front of the fire, and raised
one more great shout, waving their arms—sure now of
being seen as well as heard.
A UUNGRY bay. ? 61

“ Look ! look !” cried Oliver, “it is moving ;—the
rope is not so slack! They are tightening it. How
much tighter it is than I could pull it! That must be
Ailwin’s strong arm,—together with Roger’s.”

“But still I never can creep across that way,”
declared Mildred. “I wish you would not try, Oliver.
Do stay with me!”

“T will not leave you, dear: but we do not know
what they mean us to do yet. There! now the rope
is shaking! We shall see something. Do you see
anything coming? Don’t look at the flashing water.
Fix your eye on the rope, with the light upon it.
What do you see ?”

“T see something like a basket,—like one of our
clothes’ baskets,—coming along the line.”

It was one of Mrs. Linacre’s clothes’ baskets, which
was slung upon the rope ; and Roger was in it. He
did not stay a minute. He threw to Oliver a line
which was fastened to the end of the basket, with
which he might pull it over, from the window to the
tree, when emptied of Roger. He was then to put
Mildred into the basket, carefully keeping hold of the
line, in order to pull it back for himself when his
sister should be safely landed. Ailwin held a line
fastened to the other end of the basket, with which to
pull it the other way.

Oliver was overjoyed. He said he had never seen
anything so clever ; and he asked Mildred whether she
could possibly be afraid of riding over in this safe
little carriage. He told her how to help her passage
by pulling herself along the bridge-rope, as he called
it, instead of hindering her progress by clinging to the
rope as she sat in the basket. Taking care not to let


62 THE SETILERS AT HOME.

go the line for a moment, he again examined the knots
of the longer rope, and found they were all fast.—In
» few minutes. he began hauling in his line, and the ©
empty basket came over very easily.

“ How shall I get in?” asked Mildred, trembling.

“Here,” said Oliver, stooping his back to her.
“Climb upon my back. Now hold by the tree, and
stand upon my shoulders. Don’t be afraid. You are
light enough. Now, can’t you step in ?”

Feeling how much depended upon this, the little
girl managed it. She tumbled into the basket, took
a lesson from Oliver how to help her own passage, and
earnestly begged him to take care of his line, that
nothing might prevent his following her immediately.
Then came a great tug, and she felt herself drawn
back into the darkness. She did not like it at all.
_ The water roared louder than ever as she hung over it;
and the light which was cast upon it from the fire
showed how rapidly it was shooting beneath. Then
she saw Oliver go, and throw some more chips and
twigs on the fire ; and she knew by that that he could
see her no longer. She worked as hard as she could,
utting her hands one behind the other along the
rope: but her hands were weak, and her head was
very dizzy. She had had nothing to eat since break-
fast, and was quite tired out.

While still keeping her eyes upon Oliver, she felt
a jerk. The basket knocked against something ; and
it made her quite sick. She immediately heard Ail-
win’s voice saying, “’Tis one of them, that’s certain.
Well! if I didn’t think it was some vile conjuring
trick, wp to this very moment!”

The poor dizzy child felt a strong arm — round
A HUNGEY DAY. 63

her waist, and found herself carried near a fire in a
room. She faltered out, “ Ailwin, get something for
Oliver toeat. He will be here presently.”

“That I will: and for you first. . You shall both
_ have a drop of my cherry-brandy too.”

Mildred said she had rather havea draught of milk ;
but Ailwin said there was no milk. She had not
been able to reach the cow, to milk her. What had
poor little George done, then ?—He had had some
that had been left from the morning. Ailwin added
that she was very sorry,—she could not tell how she
came to be so forgetful ; but she had never thought of
not being able to milk the cow in the afternoon, and
had drunk up all that George left of the milk ; her
regular dinner having been drowned in the kitchen.
Neither had she remembered to bring anything eat-
able up-stairs with her, when the flood drove her from
the lower rooms. The flour and grain were now all
under water. The vegetables were, no doubt, swim-
ming about in the cellar ; and the meat would have
been where the flour was, at this moment, if Roger,
who said he had no mind to be starved, had not some-
how fished up a joint of mutton. This was now
stewing over the fire; but it was little likely to be
good ; for, besides there being no vegetables, the
salt was ali melted, and the water was none of the
best. Indeed, the water was so bad that it could not
be drunk alone: and again good Ailwin pressed a drop
of her cherry-brandy. Mildred, however, preferred a
eup of the broth, which, poor as it was, was all the
better for the loaf—ithe only loaf of bread—being
boiled in it. |

Just when Mildred thought’she could stand at the
64 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

window, and watch for Oliver, Oliver came in at the
window. He was not too tired to have his wits about
him, as Ailwin said ;—wits, she added, that were worth
more than hers. He had brought over some dry wood
with him,—as much as the basket would hold ; think-
ing that the peat-stack was probably all afloat, and the
wood-heap wetted through. All were pleased at the
prospect of keeping up a fire during this strange
night. All agreed that the bridge-rope must be left
as it was, while the flood lasted. There were wild
animals and birds enough on the Red-hill to iast for
food for a long while ; and there alone could they get
fuel.

“You can't catch game without my dog,” cried
Roger, surlily, to Ailwin ; “and my dog shan’t put
his nose to the ground, if you don’t feed him well:
and he shall be where I am,—mind you that.”

As he spoke, he opened the door to admit the dog,
which Ailwin had put out upon the stairs, for the sake
of her pet hen and chicks, which were all in the room.
The hen fluttered up to a beam below the ceiling, on
the appearance of the dog, and the chicks cluttered
about, till Ailwin and Mildred caught them, and kept
them in their laps. They glanced timidly at Roger,
remembering the fate of the white hen, the day before
Roger did not heed them. He had taken out h»
knife, forked up the mutton out of the kettle, and cu’
off the best half for himself and his dog.

Probably Oliver was thinking that Roger deserve
the best they could give him,-for his late services ; fe
he said,—

“T am sure, Roger, Mildred and I shall never ft:
get,—nor father and mother either, if ever they kn#',

29
A HUNGRY DAY. 65

it,—what you have done for us to-night. We might
have died on the Red-hill but for you.” .

“Stuff!” muttered Roger, as he sat, swinging
his legs, with his open knife in his hand, and hig
- mouth crammed,—“ Stuff! Asif I cared whether you
and she sink or swim! I like sport, that’s all.”

Nobody spoke. Ailwin helped the children to the
poor broth, and the remains of the meat, shaking
her head when they begged her to take some. She
whispered a good deal to Oliver about cherry-brandy ;
but he replied aloud that it looked and smelled very
good ; but that the only time he had tasted it, it made
him rather giddy ; and he did not wish to be giddy
to-night ;—there was so much to think about; and
he was not at all sure that the flood had got to its
height. He said no more, though his mind was full
of his father. Neither he nor Mildred could mention
their father to Ailwin to-night, even if Roger had
been out of the way.

Roger probably thought what Oliver did say very
silly ; for he sat laughing as he heard it, and for some
time after. Half an hour later, when Ailwin passed
near him, while she was laying down a bed for Oliver,
so that they might be all together during this night of
alarm, she thought there was a strong smell of
“brandy. She flew to her bottle, and found it empty,—
not a drop left. Roger had drained it all. His head
soon drooped upon his breast, and he fell from his chair
in a drunken sleep. Mildred shrank back from him
in horror ; but Ailwin and Oliver rolled him into a
corner of the room, where his dog lay down be-
side him.

Ailwin could not refrain from giving him a kick,

3
66 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

while he lay thus powerless, and sneering in his face
because he could not see her.

“Don't Ailwin,—don’t!” said Oliver. “Mildred
and I should not have been here now but for him.”

“ And I should not have been terrified out of my
wits, for these two hours past, nor have lost my cherry-
brandy, but for him. Mercy! I shall never forget his
popping up his face at that window, and sending his
dog in before him. I was as sure as death that the
flood was all of their making, and that they were come
or me, after having carried off my master, and as I
thought, you two.”

“Why, Ailwin, what nonsense!” cried Mildred from
her bed,—trembling all over as she spoke. “ How
could a boy make a flood?”

“ And you see what he has done, instead of carrying
as off,” observed Oliver.

“Well, it is almost worth my cherry-brandy to see
him lie so,—dead drunk,—only it would be better still
to see him really dead.—Well, that may be a wicked
thing to say ; but it is not so wicked as some things
he has done ;—and I am so mortally afraid of him !”

“YT wish you would say your prayers, Ailwin,
instead of saying such things: and then, perhaps, you
would find yourself not afraid of anybody.”

“Well, that is almost as good as if the pastor had
preached it. I will just hang up the chicks in the
hand-basket, for fear of the dog ; and then we will say
our prayers, and go to sleep, please God. JI am sure
we all want it.”

Oliver chose to examine first how high the water
stood in the lower rooms. He lighted a piece of
wood, and found that only two steps of the lower
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 67

flight of stairs remained dry. Ailwin protested so
earnestly that the waters had not risen for two or
three hours, that he thought they might all lie down to
sleep. Ailwin and he were the only ones who could
keep watch. He did not think Ailwin’s watching
would be worth much ; he was so tired that he did not
think he could keep awake ; and he felt that he should
be much more fit for all the business that lay before
him for the next day, if he could get a good rest now.
So he kissed little George, as he lay down beside him,
and was soon as sound asleep as all his companions.



CHAPTER V.
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS.

Aun the party slept for some hours, as quietly and
unconsciously as little George himself. If the children
were so weary that the dreadful uncertainty about
their father’s fate could not keep them awake, it is
probable that a knowledge of their own danger might
have failed to disturb them. But they had little
more idea than George himself of the extent of the
peril they were in. They did not know that the
Levels were surrounded by hills on every side but
towards the sea; or, if they knew, they did not con-
sider this, because the hills were a great way off. But,
whether they were far or near, this circle of hills was
the cause of the waters rising to a great height in
the Levels, when once the defences that had kept out
the sea and the rivers were broken down. As the
hills prevented the overflowing waters from running
off on three sides, it wes clear that the waters must

h—e2
6e& THE SETTLERS AT HoOMs.

rise to the level of the sea and the rivers from which
they flowed in. They had not reached this height
when the children lay down to rest, though Ailwin
was so sure that the worst was over; and the danger
increased as they slept; slept too soundly even to
dream of accidents.

The first disturbance was from the child. Oliver
became aware, through his sleep, that little George
was moving about, and laughing. Oliver mur-
mured, “ Be quiet, George. Lie still, dear,” and the
child was quiet for a minute. Presently, however,
he moved again, and something like a dabbling in
water was heard, while, at the same moment, Oliver
found his feet cold. He roused himself with a start,
felt that his bed was wet, and turning out, was up to
the ankles in water. By the light of the embers, he
saw that the floor was a pond, with some shoes floating
on it. His call woke Ailwin and Mildred at once.
Roger did not stir, though there was a good deal of
bustle and noise.

Mildred’s bed was so high above the floor as to be
still quite dry. Oliver told her to stay there till he
should settle what was to be done next: and he took
up the child to put him with Mildred, asking her to
strip off his drenched clothes, and keep him warm. All
the apparel that had been taken off was luckily on the
top of a chest, far above the water. Oliver handed
this to his sister, bidding her dress herself, as well as
the child. He then carefully put the fire together, to
make as much light as possible, and then told Ailwin
that they must bestir themselves, as the fire would
presently be drowned out.

Ailwin was quite ready to bestir herself; but she
SUNRISE OVER PHE LEVELS. 69

hed no idea beyond mounting on chests, chairs, and
drawers ; unless, indeed, she thought of the beam
which crossed the ceiling, to which she was seen to cast
her eyes, as if envying the chicks which hung there, or
the hen which still slept, with her head beneath her
wing, out of present reach of the flood.

Oliver disapproved of the plan of mounting on the
furniture of the room. It might be all very well, he
said, if there were nothing better to be done. But, by
the time the water would reach the top of the chests,
it would be impossible to get out by the door. He
thought it would be wisest to reach the roof of the
house while they could, and to carry with them all the
comforts they could collect, while they might be re-
moved in a dry condition. Ailwin agreed, and was
going to throw open the door, when Oliver stopped her
hand.

“Why, Oliver,” she cried, “you wont let one do
anything ; and you say, all the time, that there is not
a minute to be lost.”

Oliver showed her that water was streaming in at
the sides of the door, a good way higher up than it
stood on the floor. He said that the door was a de-
fence at present,—that the water was higher on the
stairs than in the room, and that there would be a
great rush as soon as the door should be opened. He
wished, therefore, that the bedding, and the clothes
from the drawers, and all else that they could remove
to the top of the house, should be bundled up, and
placed on the highest chest of drawers, before the
water should be let in. They must borrow the line
from the clothes’ basket, to tie round George’s waist,
that they might not lose him in the confusion. One
79 THE SETTLERS AT HOM.

uther thing must be done: they must rouse Roger,
or he might be drowned.

Ailwin was anxious that this last piece of duty
should be omitted :—not that she exactly wished that
Roger should be drowned,—at least, not through her
means ; but she, ignorant as she was,—had a supersti-
tious feeling that Roger and his family had caused
this flood, and that he could save himself well enough,
though he appeared to be sunk in a drunken sleep.
She indulged Oliver, however, so far as to help him to
seize the lad, neck and heels, and lay him, dripping as
he was, upon the table.

Before the bedding and clothes were all tied up, the
door of the room shook so as to threaten to burst in,
from the latch giving way. It struck everybody that
the person who should open it would run great risk of
being suffocated, or terribly knocked about; and yet,
it was hardly wise to wait for its bursting. Oliver
therefore tied a string to the knob of the bolt, then
slipped the bolt, to keep the door fastened while he
lifted and tied up the latch. The weor shook more
and more; so, having set the window wide open, he
made haste to scramble up to where Mildred was, wound
the cord which was about George’s waist round his
own arm, bade Mildred hold the child fast, and gave
notice that he was going to open the door. It was a
strange party, as the boy could not help noting at
the moment,—the maid standing on the bed, hugging
the bedpost, and staring with frightened eyes; Roger
snoring on the table, just under the sleeping hen on
the beam ; and the three children perched on the top
ofa high chest of drawers. George took it all for play,
-~—the new sash he had on and the bolting the door,
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. es
and the climbing and scrambling. He laughed and
kicked so that his sister could scarcely hold him.

“Now for it!” cried Oliver.

“Oh, Oliver, stop a minute !” cried Ailwin. “Don’t
be in such a hurry to drown us all, Oliver. Stcpa
moment, Oliver.”

Oliver knew, however, that the way to drown them
all was to stop. At the first pull the bolt gave way,
the door burst open, as if it would break from its
hinges, and a great body of water dashed in. The
first thing the wave did was to wash Roger off the
table ; the next, to put out the fire with a fizz,—so
that there was no other light but the dawn, now ad-
vancing. ‘The waters next dashed up against the wall
opposite the door ; and then by the rebound, with less
force, against the drawers on which the children sat.
It then leaped out of the window, leaving a troubled
surface at about half the height of the room. Above
the noise, Ailwin was heard lamenting, the chicks
cluttering, the hen fluttering, and George laughing
and clapping his hands.

‘You have George safe?” said Oliver. “ Very
well! I believe we can all get out. There is Roger’s
head above water; and [ don’t think it is more than
up to my neck; though everybody laughs at me for
being a short boy.” .

He stepped down upon a chair, and then cautiously
into the water. Jt was very nearly up to his chin,

“That will do,” said he, cheerfully. “ Now, Ailwin,
you are the tallest ;—-please carry George out on the
roof-of the house, and stay there with him till I
come.”

Ailwin made many lamentations at having to step
72 GUL SEVPLERS AT Hom».

down into the water; but she took gooc care of the
child, carrying him quite high and dry. Oliver fol-
lowed, to see that he was tied securely to the balus-
trade on the roof. While he was doing this, Ailwin
brought Mildred in the same way. Mildred wanted to
be of use below; but her brother told her the best
thing she could do was to watch and amuse George,
and to stand ready to receive the things saved from
the chambers,—she not being tall enough to do any
service in four feet of water.

It was a strange forlorn feeling to Mildred,—the
being left on the house-top in the cold grey morning,
at an hour when she had always hitherto been asleep
in bed. The world itself, as she looked round her,
seemed unlike the one she had hitherto lived in. The
stars were in the sky: but they were dim,—fading
before the light of morning. There were no fields, no
gardens, no roads to be seen ;—only grey water, far
away on every side. She could see nothing beyond
this grey water, except towards the east, where a
line of low hills stood between her and the brighten-
ing sky. Poor Mildred felt dizzy, with so mucl. |
moving water before her eyes, and in her ears the >
sound of the current below. The house shook and
trembled, too, under the force of the flood: so that she
was glad to fix her sight on the steady line of the dis-
tant hills. She spoke to George occasionally, to keep
him quiet ; and she was ready to receive every article
that was handed up the stairs from below: but, in all
the intervals, she fixed her eyes on the distant hills,
She thought how easy it would be to reach that ridge,
if she were a bird ; and how hard it would be to pine
away on this house-top, or to sink to death in these
ZUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 73

waters, for want of the wings which inferior creatures
had. Then she thought of superior creatures that
had wings too: and she longed to be an angel. She
longed to be out of all this trouble and fear; and
considered that it would be worth while to be drowned,
to be as free as a bird or an angel. She resolved
to remember this, and not to be frightened, if the
water should rise and rise, till it should sweep her
quite away. She thought that this might have be-
fallen her mother yesterday. No boat had been seen
on the waters in the direction of Gainsborough ; no
sign had reached the family that any one was think-
ing of them at a distance, and trying to save them:
and Oliverand Mildred had agreed that it was likely
that Mrs. Linacre had heard some report of the pull-
ing up of the sluices, and might have been on her
way home when the flood overtook and drowned her.
If so, she might be now an angel. If an angel, Mil-
dred was sure her first thought would be, as it had
ever been, of her home and her children ; and the little
girl looked up to see whether there was anything like
the shadow of wings between her and the dim stars.
She saw nothing ; but still, in some kind of hope, she
softly breathed the words, “O, mother! mother !”

“ Mother! mother!” shouted little George, as he
overheard her. |

Oliver leaped up the stairs, and inquired whether
there was a boat,—whether mother was coming.

“No, Oliver, no. I was only thinking about mo-
ther; and so, I suppose, was George. I am afraid
you are disappointed ;—TI am sorry.”

Oliver bit his lip to prevent crying, and could not
speak directly ; but seemed to be gazing carefully all
V4 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

around the waste. He said, at last, that he had many
times thought that his mother might come in a boat:
and he thought she might still, unless... .

“Unless she should be an angel now,” whispered
Mildred,—“unless she died yesterday ; and then she
might be with us now, at this very moment, though
we cannot see her ;—might not she ?”

“Yes, I believe so, dear. And, for one thing, I
almost wish she may not come in a boat. Who should
tell her that father was carried away into all those
waters, without having spoken one word to us?”

“If they are both dead, do you not think they are
together now?” asked Mildred.

“Certainly. Pastor Dendel says that all who love
one another well enough will live together, where they
will never die any more.”

“ And Iam sure they did,” said Mildred.

“Tf they see us now,” said Oliver, “it must make a
great difference to them whether we are frightened and
miserable, or whether we behave as we ougl* to do.
Let us try not to be frightened, for their sakexy, dear.”

““ And if they are not with us all the while, God is,”
whispered Mildred.

“QO, yes; but God knows .... God will not ex-
pect”

“Surely He will feel in some way as they do about
us,” said Mildred, remembering and repeating the verse
Pastor Dendel had taught her. “‘Like as a father
pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear
hint.’”

“¢ For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth
that we are dust.’” So Oliver continued the psalm.

“There comes the sun!” exclaimed Mildred, happy
SUNRISE OVER THE. LEVELS. W5

to greet some one familiar object amidst this strange
scene.

The scene hardly appeared the same when the sun,
after first peeping above the hills like a golden star,
flamed up to its full size, and cast a broad glittering
light over the wide waters, and into the very eyes of
the children. They felt the warmth too, immediately ;
and it wav very cheering. The eastern hills now
almost disappeared in the sun’s blaze; and those tc
the west shone very clearly ; and the southern ridge
near Gainsborough, looked really but a little way off.
The children knew, however, that there were three
full miles between them and any land, except then
Red-hill, and a few hillocks which peeped above the
flood in the Levels: and there was no sign of a boat,
far or near. Oliver checked a sigh, when he had con-
vinced himself of this; and began to look what had
become of the people they knew in the Levels.

Neighbour Gool’s dwelling stood low ; and nothing
was now to be seen of it but a dark speck, which might
be the top of a chimney. It was possible that the
whole family might have escaped; for Gool and his
wife were to be at Haxey yesterday ; and they might
there hear of the mischief intended or done to the
sluices, in time to save the rest of the household.
Some of the roofs of the hamlet of Sandtoft stood
above the waters; and the whole upper part of the
chapel used by the foreigners ; and many might easily
have found a refuge there. Further off, a conspicuous
object was the elegant crocketed spire of one of the
beautiful Lincolishire churches, standing high, as if
inviting those who were dismayed to come and save
themselves in the air from the dangers of the waters,
fas) THE SEYTLERS AT HOME,

Oliver wondered whether any sufferers were now
watching the sunrise from the long ridge of the
church-roof, or from the windows of the spire.

One of the most curious sights was the fleets of
haystacks that were sailing along in the courses of the
currents. As the smaller stacks were sometimes shot
forward rapidly, and whirled round by an eddy, while
a large stately stack followed forwards, performing the
same turns of the voyage, Mildred compared them to
a duck and her ducklings in the pond, and Oliver to a
great ship voyaging with a fleet of small craft. They
saw sights far more sorrowful than this. ‘They grieved
over the fine large trees—some in full leaf—that they
saw tumbling about in the torrents which cut through
the stiller waters ; but it was yet worse to see dead
cows, horses, pigs, and sheep carried past—some directly
through the garden, or over the spot where the mill
had stood. There were also thatched roofs carried
away entire ; and many a chest, chair, and cow-rack
—-showing the destruction that had gone on during
the night. While the distan* scene was all bright and
lovely in the sunrise, these nearer objects, thickly
strewn in the muddy waters, were ugly and dismal ;
and Oliver saw that it did him and his sister no good
to watch them. He started, and said they must not
be idle any longer.

Just then Ailwin called from the stairs,

“Tsay, Oliver, the cow is alive. I heard her low,
I’m certain.”

“T am afraid it was only George,” said Mildred.
“He was lowing like the cow, a minute ago.”

“That might be because he heard the real cow,”
cried Oliver, with new hope. “I had rather save the
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELA. Gi

cow than anything. I will see if I cannot get into
one of the upper rooms that looks towards the yard.
We might have a bridge-rope from more windows
than one. Where is Roger? What is he fit for? Is
he awake 2?” |

“ Awake! yes, indeed,” whispered Ailwin, coming
close up to the children. “There is more mischief
about that boy than you think for. He is now on the
stairs, with more mice, and rats, and spiders, and
creeping things about him than I ever saw before in
all my days. We are like to be devoured as we stand
on our feet ; to say nothing of what is to become of us
if we lie down.”

Mildred looked at her brother in great terror.

“We must get rid of them, if they really do us
hurt,” said Oliver, decidedly, though with an anxious
look. “We must drown them, if they are mischievous.
We can do that, you know—at least with the larger
things. They cannot get away from us.”

“Drown away !” said Ailwin, mysteriously. “Drown
away! The more you drown the more will come up.
Why, did you never hear of the plagues of Egypt ?”

“Yes, to be sure. What then?”

“T take this to bea plague of Egypt that that boy
has brought upon us. It is his doing ; and you will
see that, if you will just look down from where I stand,
and watch him making friends with them all.”

Mildred’s eyes were on her brother’s face as he stood
where Ailwin desired him, watching Roger. After
looking very thoughtful for some moments, he turned
and exclaimed,—

“There is not one word of sense in it all, Mildred
There is a wonderful number of live things there, to be
*

45 GilE SETTLERS AT HOME.

fe

sure ; and here, too, all over the roof—if you look.
But Roger is not making friends with them. He is
teazing them—hurting all he can get holdof I think
the creatures have come up here because the water
has driven them out of their holes ; and that there would
have been quite as many if Roger had been drowned
in the carr. They have nothing to do with Roger,
or the plagues of Eeypt, Mildred. Don’t believe a
word of it.”

“Then I wish Ailwin would not say such things,”
replied Mildred.

Ailwin persisted that time would show what Roger
was—to which they all agreed. Oliver observed that
meanwhile Ailwin, who was the oldest person among
them, should not try to frighten a little girl, who was
the youngest of all, except George. Ailwin said she
should keep her own thoughts ; though, to be sure,
she need not always say what they were to everybody.

“ About this cow,” thought Oliver aloud. “ We
must plan some way to feed her.”

“Take care!” exclaimed Mildred, as he began to
descend the stairs. But the words were scarcely out
of her mouth when her brother called to her that the
water had sunk. She ran to see, and saw, with her
own eyes, that the water did not quite come up to the
wet mark it had left on the wall of the stairs. Ailwin
thought but little of it—it was such a trifle; and
Oliver allowed that it might be a mere accident,
arising from the flood having found some new vent
about the house ; but still, the water had sunk; and
that was a sight full of hope.

“ Have you heard the cow low, Roger?’ asked
Oliver.
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 13

“Yes, to be sure. She may well low; for she must
be hungry enough.”

“ And wet and cold enough, too, poor thing! Iam
going to see whether I can find out exactly where she
is, and whether we cannot do something for her.”

Ailwin called down stairs to Oliver, to say that
there was a washtub floating about in the room they
had slept in. If he could find it, he might row him-
self about in that, in the chambers, instead of always
wading in the water, catching his death of cold.

Oliver took the hint, and presently appeared in the
tub, rowing himself with a slip of the wood he had
brought over from the Red-hill. Roger stared at him
as he rowed himself out of one chamber, and opened
the door of another, entering it in fine style. Roger
presently followed to see what was doing, and perhaps
to try how he liked a voyage in a tub in a large
‘chamber.

“T see her,” cried Oliver, from the window. “I
see poor cow’s head, and the ridge of her back above
water.” )

Roger came splashing to the window to look, and
jumped into the tub, making it sink a good deal ; but
it held both the boys very well. Roger thought the
cow very stupid that she did not get upon the great
dunghill behind her, which would keep her whole
body out of the water. Oliver thought that, as the
dunghill was behind her, she could not see it. He
wished he could go, and put her in mind of it. He
thought he would try to cross in the tub, if he could
so connect it with the window as that it might be
drawn back, in case of his being unable to pass the
little current that there was between the house and
SU THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

the ruins of the yard-buildings—of which little re-
mained.

“Tl go, too,” said Roger.

“ Hither you will go, or I,” said Oliver. “One must
stay to manage the rope, in case of the tub upsetting.
You had better let me go, Roger, because poor cow |
knows me.”

Roger, however, chose to go. Oliver asked him
whether he could milk a cow; because some milk
must be got for George, if possible. He said, very
gravely, that his poor little brother would die, he
thought, if they could not get milk for him.

Roger laughed at the doubt whether he could milk
cows. He did it every day of his life, when fishing
and fowling, with his uncle, in the carr. Oliver
now guessed how it was that the milk of their good
cow had sometimes unaccountably run short. Ailwin
had observed that this never happened but when the
Redfurns were in the neighbourhood ; and she had
always insisted upon it that they had bewitched the
cow. Oliver knew that she would say sonow. He
said so much, and said it so seriously, about the neces-
sity of milk for little George, that he thought not even
a Redfurn could have the heart to drink up all the
milk. He gave Roger a brown pitcher for the milk,
and helped, very cleverly, to fasten the cord to the
tub. They passed the cord through the back of a
heavy old-fashioned chair that stood in the room, lest
any sudden pull should throw Oliver out of the win-
dow ; he then established himself on the window-sill,
above the water, to manage his line, and watch what
Roger would do.

Roger pulled very skilfully ;—much more so, frv:a
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 8]

his strength and from practice, than Oliver could have
done. He avoided logs of wood, trees, and other heavy
things that floated past; and this was nearly all he
did till the line had quite run out, so that he could
not be carried any further down. Then he began dil-
gently working his way up towards the cow. He had
got half way to his object, when he paused a moment,
and then changed his course—to Oliver’s surprise ; for
the thing which appeared to have attracted his atten-
tion was a small copper boiler. Plenty of such things
swept past before, and nobody had thought of wanting
them. It was plain, however, that Roger had a fancy
for this particular copper boiler ; for he carefully way-
laid it, and arrested it with his paddle. Oliver then
saw that some live animal leaped from the boiler into
the tub. He saw Roger seize the boiler, and take it
into the tub ; catch up the animal, whatever it might
be, and nurse it in his arms ; and then take something
out of his pocket, and stoop down. Oliver was pretty
sure he was killing something with his knife.

Whatever Roger was doing, he had soon done. By
this time he had again been carried down as far as the
line would allow; and the additional weight he had
now on board his tub made it harder work for him to
paddle up again. He did it, however, and brought
his odd little boat into still water, between the dung-
hill and the cow. After looking about him for a while,
he threw out the boiler and the pitcher upon the dung-
hill, seized a pitchfork which was stuck upright in it,
and, his craft being thus lightened, made for the ruins
of the cart-shed and stable.

Of these buildings there remained only wrecks of
the walls, and a few beams amd cu®ers standing up in

6




88 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

the air, or lying across each other, without any thatch
to cover them. Something must be left inside, how-
ever ; for Roger was busy with his pitchfork. This
something must be valuable, too; for Roger, after
carefully feeling the depth, jumped out of the tub,
and went on filling it, while he stood in the water.
Oliver thought this very daring, till, glancing at the
cow, he was sure he saw more of her neck and back ;
and, examining the wall of the house, he perceived
that the flood had sunk some inches since Roger he-
gan to Cross.

When the tub was heaped up with what looked like
wet straw, Roger pushed it before him towards the
cow, carefully feeling his way, but never sinking so
much as to have the water above his shoulders.

“Capital! Now that is clever!” said Oliver aloud,
as he sat at the window, and saw what Roger was
about. “He is going to lift her up out of the water.
How she struggles to help herself! She knows there
is somebody caring for her ; and she will do what she
can for herself.”

This was true. Roger thrust the straw he had
brought under the cow, with his pitchfork. He had
to bring three loads before she could raise her whole |
body ; but then she stood, poor thing! with only her
trembling legs in the water. Roger turned her head
so that she saw the dunghill just behind her, and with
some encouragement, made one more vigorous scramble
to reach it. She succeeded; and Roger whipped up
the pitcher, and was certainly trying to milk her. She
could not, however, be prevented from lying down.
Oliver was more angry than he had almost ever been
in his life, when he saw Roger kick her repeatedly, in
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 83

different parts of her body, pull her by the tail, and
haul up her head with a rope he had found in the
stable. The poor cow never attempted to rise ; and
it was clear that she wanted comfort, and not ill-usage,
Oliver determined that, when Roger came back, he
would not speak a word to him.

Roger set about returning presently, when he
found that nothing could be got from the cow. He
took his boiler on board, and pulled himself in by the
line, without troubling himself to paddle.

When he came in at the window, he threw down
the pitcher, swearing at himself for the trouble he had
taken about a good-for-nothing beast that had been
standing starving in the water till she had not a drop
of milk to give. He looked at Oliver, as if rather
surprised that he did not speak; but Oliver took no
notice of him.

Tt was a hare that Roger had in his boiler,—a hare
that had, no doubt, leaped into the boiler when pressed
by a still more urgent danger than sailing down the
stream in such a boat. Roger had cut her throat
with his pocket-knife ; and there she lay in her own
blood.

“Don’t you touch that,” said Roger, as he landed
his booty upon the window-sill. “If you lay a finger
on that, it will be the worse for you. They are mine,
—both puss and the boiler.”

Still Oliver did not speak. He wondered what
Roger meant to do with these things, if nobody else
v338 to touch them.

Roger soon made it clear what his intentions were.
He whistled to his dog, which scampered down stair
tc him from the top of the house ; put dog, puss, anc

6—3
84 TUE SETTLERS AT HOSE,

boiler into the clothes’ basket, and pulled himself over
with them to the Red-hill, taking care to carry the
tinder-box with him. There he made a fire, skinned
and cooked his hare, and, with his dog, made a feast
of it, under a tree.

Nobody grudged him his feast ; though the children
were sorry to find that any one could be so selfish.
Ailwin was glad to be rid of him, on any terms ; and,
as soon as Oliver was sure that he was occupied for
some time to come, so that he would not be returning
to make mischief, he resolved to go over to the cow,
and give her something better than kicks ;—.0od, if,
as he thought, he could procure some. Saying nothing
to any one, he tied the tub-line to a bed-post, as being
more trustworthy still than the heavy chair, and car-
ried with him the great knife that the meat had been
cut with the evening before. He made for the stable
first, and joined the rope he knew to be there to his
line, so as to make it twice the length it was before.
He could now reach the field behind the stable, where
the corn, just turning from green to yellow, had been
standing high at this hour yesterday. He had to
paddle very carefully here, lest his tub should be
knocked to pieces against the stone wall. But the
wall, though not altogether thrown down, had so many
breaches made in it, that he found himself in the field,
without exactly knowing whether he had come through
the gate-posts or through the wall. He lost no time
in digging with his paddle ; and, as he had hoped, he
turned up ears of corn from under the water, which
he could catch hold of, a handful at a time, and cut
off with his knife. It was very tiresome, slow work ;
and sometimes he was near losing his paddle, and
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. &5

sometimes his knife. He persevered, however : now
resting for a minute or two, and then eating a few of
the ears, and thinking that only very hungry people
could swallow them, soaked as they were with bad
water. He ate more than he would have done, re-
membering that the more he took now, the less he
should want of the portion he meant to carry to the
house, when he should have fed the cow. He hoped
they should obtain some better food ; but, if no flour
was to be had, and no other vegetable than this, it
would be better than none.

When he reached the cow, she devoured the heads of
corn ravenously. She could not have appeared better
satisfied with the sweetest spring grass. It was a plea-
sure to see her eyes as she lay, receiving her food from
Oliver’s hand. He emptied out all he had brought be-
side her, and patted her, saying he hoped she would
give George some milk in the afternoon, in return for
what had been done for her now.

Oliver felt so tired and weak when he got home with
his tub half-full of soaked corn ears, that he felt as if
he could not do anything more. He was very near
crying when he found that there was not a morsel to
eat ; that the very water was too bad to drink; and
that there was no fire, from Roger having carried off
the tinder-box. But George was crying with hunger ;
and that made Oliver ashamed to do the same, and
put him upon thinking what was to be done next.

Ailwin was the only person who, being as strong as
Roger, could have got anything from him by force ;
and there was no use in asking Ailwin to cross the
bridge-rope, or to do anything which would bring her
nearer to the boy she feared so much. Besides that,
86 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

Roger had carried over the clothes’ basket, without
leaving any line to pull it back by. Oliver felt that
he (if he were only a little less hungry and tired)
could make the trip in a sack, or a tub, or evena
kettle ; but a tall woman like Ailwin could cross in
nothing smailer than the missing clothes’ basket. It
was clear that Oliver alone could go ; and that he must
go for the tinder-box before any comfort was to be
had.

He made up his mind to this, therefore ; and having,
with Ailwin’s help, slung the useful tub upon the
bridge-rope, so that he might start the first moment
that Roger should be out of sight or asleep, he rested
himself in the window, watching what passed on the
Red-hill. He observed that Roger seemed quite secure
that no one could follow him, as he had carried off
the basket. There he lay, near the fire, eating the
meat he had broiled, and playing with his dog. It
seemed to the hungry watchers as if he meant to lie
there all day. After awhile, however, he rose, and
sauntered towards the trees, among which he disap-
peared, as if going to the other side of the hill, to play,
or to set his dog upon game.

Oliver was off, sliding along the bridge-rope in his
tub. He did not forget to carry the line with which
to bring back the basket. It seemed to him that
Roger intended to live by himself on the Red-hill ;
and to this none of the party had any objection. He
had swum over to the house once, when the stream was
higher and more rapid than now ; and he could come
again, if he teund himself really in want of anything ;
so that nobody need be anxious for him. Meantime,
no one at the house desired his company. Oliver
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. ST

therefore took with him a blanket and a rug, and a
knife and fork for his accommodation.

He alighted under the beech without difficulty, and
laid down the articles he brouglt under the tree,
where Roger would be sure to see them. He took the
flint and the tinder from the tinder-box, and pocketed
them, leaving the steel and the box for Roger’s use, as
there were knives at home, and Roger might perhaps
find a flint on the hill. There were plenty in the
quarry. Oliver knew he must be quick ; but he could
not help looking round for something to eat,—some
one of the many animals and birds that he knew to be
on the hill, and heard moving about him on every side.
But he had no means of catching any. The bones of
’ the hare were lying about, picked quite clean by the
dog; but not a morsel of meat was left in sight.

Something ‘very precious, however, caught Oliver's
eye ;—a great heap of pebbly gravel thrown up by the
flood. The water in the Levels was usually so bad
that the settlers had to filter it; and Oliver knew that
no water was purer than that which had been filtered
through gravel. He believed now that poor George
could have a good drink of water, at least; and he
scooped up with his hands enough gravel to half fill the
tub. It took a long time to heap up as much as he

could carry upon the rug; and then it was hard work
to empty it into the teb ; and he fancied every moment
that he heard Roger coming. It was a pity he did
not know that Roger had fallen fast asleep in the sun,
on the other side of the hill; and that his dog lay
winking beside him, not thinking of stirring.

One thing more must be had ;—chips for fuel.
When Oliver had got enough of these, and of sticks
8&8 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

too, he found courage and strength to stay a few
minutes more, to make up such a fire for Roger as
would probably last till after he should have discovered
the loss of the flint, and so prevent his being without
fire till he could find another flint. In order to give
him a broad hint, Oliver spread out the blanket on
the ground, and set the tinder-box in the middle of
it, where it would be sure to invite attention. He
then climbed into the tub, and was glad to be off,
drawing the basket with the firewood after him.

“Here, Ailwin,” said he, faintly, as he reached the
window, “take the flint and the tinder, and the wood
in the basket, and make a fire. I have brought you
nothing to eat.”

“No need!” said Ailwin, with an uncommonly ‘
merry countenance.

“You must broil the green corn, unless we can
manage to get a fowl from across the yard. But I
really cannot go any more errands till I am rested,”
said Oliver, dismally.

“ No need, Oliver, dear !” said Ailwin again.

“What do you think we have found to eat?” cried
Mildred, from the stairs.—“ What is the matter with
him, Ailwin? Why does not he speak?”

“ He is so tired, he does not know what to do,” said
Ailwin. “No, don’t get down into the water again,
dear. Ili carry you. Put your arm round: my neck,
and I'll carry you.”

And the good-natured woman carried him up to
the roof, and laid him down on a bundle of bedding
there, promising to bring him breakfast presently.
She threw an apron over his head, to cover it trom the
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 89

hot sun, and bade him lie still, and not think of any-
thing till she came.

“Only one thing,” said Oliver. “Take particular
care of the gravel in the tub.” :

“Gravel!” exclaimed Ailwin. “The fowls eat
gravel ; but I don’t see that we can. However, you
shall have your way, Oliver.”

The tired boy was asleep in a moment. He knew
nothing more till he felt vexed at somebody’s trying to
wake him. It was Mildred. He heard her say,—

“ How very sound asleep he is! I can’t make him
stir. Here, Oliver,—just eat this, and then you can
— go to sleep again directly.”

He tried to rouse himself, and sat up ; but his eyes
were so dim, and the light so dazzling, that he could
not see, at first, what Mildred had in her hands. It
was one of her mother’s best china plates,—one of the
set that was kept in a closet upstairs ; and upon it was
a nice brown toasted fish, steaming hot.

“Ts that for me?” asked Oliver, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, indeed, for who but you?” said Ailwin,
whose smiling face popped up from the stairs. “Who
deserves it, if you do not, I should like to know? It
is not so good as I could have wished, though, Oliver.
I could not broil it, for want of butter and everything ;
and we have no salt, you know. But, come! eat it,
such as itis. Come, begin !”

“ But have you all got some too?” asked the hungry
boy, as he eyed the fish.

“Oh, yes,—George and all,” said Mildred. “We
ate ours first, because you were so sound asleep, we did
not like to wake you.”
90 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“ How long have I been asleep?” asked Oliver,
beginning heartily upon his fish. “How could you
get this nice fish? How busy you must have been all
this time that I have been asleep !”

“ All this time!” exclaimed Mildred. “Why, you
have been asleep only half an hour; hardly so much.
We have only just lighted the fire, and cooked the
fish, and fed Geordie, and put him to sleep, and got our
own breakfast ;—and we were not long about that,—
we were so very hungry! That is all we have done
since you went to sleep.”

“Tt seems a great deal for half an hour,” said
Oliver. “How good this fish is! Where did you
get it?”

“T found it on the stairs. Ah! I thought you
would not believe it ; but we shall find more, I dare
say, as the water sinks; and then you will believe what
you see.”

“ On the stairs! How did it get there !”

“The same way that the water got there, I suppose,
and the poor little drowned pig that lay close by the
same place. There was a whole heap of fish washed up
at the turn of the stairs ; enough for us all to-day.
Ailwin said we must eat them first, because the pig will
keep. Such a nice little clean sucking-pig !”

“That puts me in mind of the poor sow,” said
Oliver. “I forgot her when we were busy about the
cow. lam afraid she is drowned or starved before
this; but we must see about it.”

“Not now.” said Mildred. ‘Do you go to sleep
again now. There is not such a hurry as there was,
the waters are going down so fast.”

« Area they, indeed ?—Oh, Ido not want to sleep any
SUNRISE OVER THE LEVELS. 9}

more. Iam quitewideawake now. Are you sure the
flood is going down?”

“Only look! Look at that steep red bank on the
Red-hill, where it was all a green slope yesterday, and
covered with water this morning. Look at the little
speck of a hillock, where neighbour Gool’s house was.
We could not see that this morning, | am sure. And if
you will come down, you will find that there is scarcely
‘any water in the upper rooms now. Geordie might
play at paddling there, as he is so fond of doing in his
tub. if we could only get everything dried.”

“ We might get many things dried before night, in
such a sun asthis. How very hot it is!”

Oliver ran down, and convinced himself that the
flood was abating fast. It must have swelled up
higher within the house than outside ; for it tad sunk
three feet in the upper rooms, and two on the outer
walls of the house. Now that the worst of the danger
seemed to be past, the children worked with fresh
spirit, making all possible use of the sunshine for drying
their bedding and clothes, in hopes of sleeping in a
chamber this night, instead of on the house-top, which
they had feared would be necessary. Nothing could
have made them believe, if they had been told at sun-
rise, how cheerfully they would sit down, in the after-
noon, to rest and talk, and hope that they might, after
all, meet their father and mother again soon, alive
and well.
93 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

CHAPTER VI.
ROGER HIS OWN MASTER.

THERE lay Roger under the tree, thinkiug that there
was nothing to prevent his having all his own way
now, and that he was going to be very happy. He
had always thought it hard that he could not have
his own way entirely, and had been unsatisfied with a
much greater degree of liberty than most people wish
or have.

He had hitherto led a wandering life, having no
home duties, no school to go to, no trade to work at,—
no garden, or other pleasure, to fix him to one spot.
He had gone, with his uncle, from sporting on the
moors, in one season of the year, to sporting in the
marshes in another ; and, wild as was this way of life,
it made his will so much wilder, that he was always
wishing for more liberty still. When his aunt had
desired him to watch the kettle, as it hung over the
fire near the tent, or asked him to help her in shaking
out their bedding, or cleaning their utensils, he had
turned sulky, and wished that he lived alone, where
he need not be plagued about other people’s affairs.
When his uncle had ordered him to attend at a cer-
tain spot and hour, with nets or a gun, he had been
wont to feel himself seized with a sudden desire to
wander in an opposite direction, or to lie half asleep
in the sun, too lazy to work at all. When he had
played truant, and returned late to the tent, and found
nothing better left to eat than a dry crust of bread, or
the cold remains of a mess of fish, he had frequently
ROGER HIS OWN MASTER. $3

thought how pleasant it would be to have the best of
everything for himself, and only his dog to eat up the
rest. So this boy had often felt and thought; and so
would many think and feel, perhaps, if there were
many as forlorn and friendless as he, with no one to
love and be loved by. Though he had had an uncle and
aunt, he had never had a friend. He knew that they
cared about him only because he could help to keep
the tent, and take the game; and, feeling this, it was
irksome to him to be under their orders.

The time was now come for which he had so often
longed. He was his own master completely. There
was nobody near who could order or compel him to do
anything ; while he, on his part, had an obedient ser-
vant in his dog. The sky was blue and warm over-
head, and the trees cast a pleasant shade. The Red-
hill was now an island, which he had all to himself ;
and it was richly stocked with game, for his food and
sport. Here he could have his own way, and be com-
pletely happy. ®

Such was Roger’s idea when he stole the tinder-box,
and crossed to the hill; and this was what he said to
himself as he cooked his meal, and when he lay down
after it on the grass, with the bees humming round
him, and the sound of the waters being now a pleasant
ripple, instead of the rush and roar of yesterday. He
desired his dog to lie down, and not disturb him ; and
he took this opportunity to change the animal’s name.
Stephen Redfurn, taking up the quarrel of the day
against the bishops, would have the dog called
“Bishop,” and nothing else. Roger had always wished
to call him, “Spy ;” but Bishop would never answer to
the name of Spy, or even seem to hear it. Now, how-
G4 "SHE SETTLERS A? HOME

ever, Bishop was to be Spy, as there was no one here
to indulge the dog with his old name; and Spy was
told so many times over, and with all the devices that
could be thought of, for impressing the fact on his
memory.

This lesson being given, Roger shut his eyes, and
thought he would sleep as long as he chose; but, in
the first place, he found himself too much heated for
sleep. He considered that it was no wonder, after
broiling himself in making a fire to broil his hare.
He wished animals ran about ready cooked—as fruits
grow on the sunny side of trees. It was too bad to
have to bustle and toil for an hour, to get ready what
was eaten in ten minutes ; and it just passed through
his mind that, whatever Nan Redfurn might have
sometimes said and done to him, she had usually saved
him all trouble in cooking, and had had his meals
ready for him whenever he chose to be at the tent at
meal times. He rose, and thought he could find a
cooler place, further under the trees.

He did so, and again lay down. Sleep began to
steal over him ; and, at the same time, the thought
crept into his mind that he should never more see
Stephen Redfurn. The ideas that come when one is
dropping asleep are very vivid ; and this one startled
Roger so, that Spy found it out, and pricked up his
ears, as ifat some alarm. ‘This thought would not go
‘away; for it so happened that the last words that —
Stephen and Roger had spoken together were angry
ones. Stephen had ordered Roger to carry the fry
they had fished for manure to a field, where he had
promised to deposit it by a certain time. Roger had
been sure that the fish would be better for lying in
KUGER HIS OWN MASYVER. 95

the sun a while longer, and refused to touch it. No
matter which was right about the manure ; both were
wrong in being angry. Stephen had said that Roger
was a young rascal, who would never come to good ;
and Roger had looked impertinently in his uncle’s
face, while whistling to the dog to come with him,
and make sport among the water-fowl. It was that
face—that countenance of his uncle’s, as he had last
seen it, which was before Roger’s eyes now, as he lay
dozing. With it came the angry tones of Stephen’s
voice, saying that he would never come to good.
Mixed and confused with this was the roar of a
coming flood, and a question (how and whence spoken
he knew not) whether his uncle might not possibly
have been saved, if he had not, against orders, carried
away Bishop—for the dog was still Bishop in his
master’s dreams.

Roger started bolt upright, and looked about him.

He felt very tired; but he thought he would not lie
down again just yet. It was odd that he could not
get sound asleep, so tired as he was. If he should not
sleep better than this at night, what should he do?
He wished he had some more of that woman’s cherry-
brandy. He had slept sound enough after drinking
that. It was. well for Roger that he was not now
within reach of intoxicating liquors—the state of his
mind would probably have made a drunkard of him.
- His mind ran strangely on his uncle, and his uncle's
last looks and words, even as he stood wide awake
and staring at the beehives. A rustle in the briers
behind him made him jump as if he had been shot. It
was only a partridge taking wing.

“Whirr away?’ said Roger to her “You can’t
96 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

go far. You will have to light again upon my island.
You all belong to me—you swarming creatures! You
may run about awhile, and flutter away a bit; but

you will all belong to me at last, with Spy to help —

me. I'll have some sport, now. Here, Spy! Spy !”

Spy had disappeared, and did not come when called.

- A whistle brought him, however, at last. He came
out of the thicket, licking his chops. Being com-.
manded to bring his game, he soon produced two
_ rabbits. It was easy work for the dog to catch them ;
for the poor creatures had no holes here. They had
come tc this raised ground from a warren some way
off, where they had been soaked out of their holes.

Spy was praised for everything but not answering
to his name. For that he was lectured, and then sent
off again, to try what he could find. He brought in
prey of various kinds; for he could not stir among
the trees without starting some. During the fun, as
Roger thought it, while the terrified birds were flut-
tering among the branches of the trees, and the scared
animals bursting through the thicket, Roger resolved
that he: would not plague himself with any more
thoughts of Stephen and Nan. Ifthey were drowned, —
it was none of his doing ;. and, as for Stephen’s anger
yesterday, there was nothing new in that; Stephen
was angry every day of his life. He would not be
scared out of his sleep any more by nonsense. He
would not give up having his own way to see Stephen
and Nan under these very trees ; and, as he had got
his own way at last, he would enjoy it.

This mood went on till there was such a heap of
dead animals, that Roger began to think whether he
could skin them all, and clean their skins, in such hot
RUGER HIS OWN MASTER. 97

weather as this, before they were unfit for any use.
As for eating them, here was twenty times as much
food as could be eaten while it was good. He did just
remember the children and Ailwin, and how much
they probably wanted food ; but he settled that it was
‘no business of his; and he was not going to trouble
himself to leave his island for anybody. He would
eall in Spy, and tie him up; for there must be no
more game killed to-day.

Spy did not come for any calling,—for anything
short of the well-known whistle, as Roger would not
utter the name of Bishop. Roger grew very angry at
being obeyed no better than this ; and his last whistle
was so shrill that the dog seemed to know what it
threatened, refused to answer it as long as he dared,
and then came unwillingly, with fear in every atti-
tude. He gave a low whine when he saw his master ;
as he had good reason to do. Roger tied him to a
tree, and then gave loose to his passion. He thrashed
the dog with a switch till the poor creature's whine
was heard and pitied by the children and Ailwin on
their house top; and there is no knowing how long
the whipping might not’ have gone on, if the animal
had not at last turned furious, and snapped at Roger
in a way which made him think of giving over, and
finding something else to do with his sovereignty.

He found it was rather dull work, so far, having all
his own way, in an island of his own. At last, he be-
thought himself of an amusement he had been fond of
before he lived so much in the moors and the carrs.
He bethought himself of birdsnesting. It was too
late for eggs ; but he thought the bird-families might
not have all dispersed. Here were plenty of trees,

7
98 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

and they must be full of birds ; for, though they were
silent to-day (he did wish the place was not quite so
silent!) they sometimes sent their warblings so far
over the carr, that Nan Redfurn would mention them
in the tent. He would see what ailed them, that they
would not give him any music to-day. By incessant
cooing, he obtained an answer from one solitary pigeon ;
which he took advantage of to climb the tree, and look
for the nest. He found a nest; but there was nothing
in it. He climbed several trees, and found abundance
of nests ; but all deserted. Except his solitary pigeon
{which presently vanished), there appeared to be not a
winged creature in all those trees. The birds had been
frightened away by the roar of the flood of yesterday ;
and, perhaps, by seeing the fields, to which they had
been wont to resort for their food, all turned into a
waste of muddy waters,

Roger threw to the ground every empty nest he
found, from the common inability of a boy to keep his
hands off a bird’s-nest. When he was tired of climb-
ing trees, he picked up all the scattered nests, and laid
sliem in a long row on the grass. They looked dismal
enough. It is disagreeable to see a range of houses left
half-built (such as may be seen in the neighbourhood
of large towns), with the doorways gaping, and the
window-spaces empty, and roofs hardly covering in the
dark inside ; but such a row of houses is less dismal
than Roger’s array of birds’-nests. There is something
in the very make of a bird’s-nest which rouses thoughts
of blue or red-spotted eggs, of callow young birds, with
their large, hungry eyes and beaks, or of twittering
fledglings, training for a summer life of pleasure. To
see, Instead of ine. their silent empty habitations,
KROGER HIS OWN MASTER, 99

extended in a long row, would be enough to make
any one dull and sad. So Roger found. He kicked
them into a heap under a tree, and thought that they
would make a fine crackling fire. He would burn
them, every one.

While he was wondering whether any birds would
come back to miss their nests, it struck him that he
had not thought how he was to pass the night. It
was nothing new to him to sleep in the open air. He
liked it best at this season. But he had usually had
a rug to le upon, with the tent over him; or a
blanket ; or, at worst, he had a sack to creep into.
The clothes he had on were old and thin; and, as he
looked at them, it made him angry to think that he
was not to have everything as he liked it, after all.
Here he should have to pass a cold night, and with
nothing between him and the hard ground. He thought
of gathering leaves, moss, and high grass, to roll him-
self up in, like a squirrel in its hole; but the trouble
was what he did not like. He stood listlessly think-
ing how much trouble it would cost to collect moss
and leaves for the purpose; and, while he was so think-
ing, he went on pelting his dog with birds’-nests, and
seeing how the angry dog, unable to get loose, snapped
up and shook to pe the nests which fell within his
reach.

Roger knew that he ought to he skinning some of
the dead animals, if he really meant to secure all their
skins, before it was too late ; but this also was trouble-
some. Instead of doing this, he went round the hill
to see what the Linacres were about, resolving by no
means to a;pear to see them, if they should be making
signs from the window to have the things back again

‘—2
1O0 THE SETTLERS AT HOMS.

that he had carried away. On coming out of the shads
on that side of the hill, he was surprised to see smoke
still going up from his fire, considering that the fire
was nearly out when he had left it. Something more
strange met his eye as he ran forward. There was the
nice clean blanket spread out on the ground, with the
tinder-box in the middle.

“Somebody has been here!” cried Roger, much
offended. “What business has anybody in my island?
Coming when my back is turned! If I had only
heard them coming to meddle ”

Just then, his eye fell on the rug, blanket, and knife
and fork left by Oliver,—the very accommodation he
had been wishing for, and more. When he felt the
thick warm rug, he gave over his anger at some one
having entered his island without his leave, and, for a
moment, again felt pleased and happy. But when he
saw that the bridge-basket was gone—that other people
had the means of coming in upon him when they
pleased—he was more angry than he had been all day.

“ However,” thought he, “I got over to the house
before any one else crossed the water ; and I can do
the same again whenever I please. I have only to
swim over with Spy, and bring away anything I like,
while they are busy on the other side, about their good-
for-nothing cow, or something. That will be tit-for-
tat.”

He was doubly mistaken here. His going over to
steal comforts from the Linacres would not be tit-for-
tat for Oliver’s coming over to his father’s hill, to
bring away his mother’s clothes’ basket, and leave com-
forts for an unwelcome visitor! Neither could Roger
now enter the Linacres’ dwelling when he pleased,


ROGER HIS OWN MASTER. 101

by swimming the stream. He saw this, when he ex-
amined and considered. The water had sunk so as te
show a few inches of the top of the entrance-door and
lower windows. It was not high enough to allow of
his getting in at the upper-window, as he did yester-
day ; and too high for entrance below. The stream
appeared to be as rapid and strong as ever; and it
shot its force through the carr as vehemently as at
first ; for it was almost or quite as deep as ever. It
had worn away soil at the bottom of its channel, to
nearly or quite the same depth as it had sunk at the
surface ; so that it was still working against the walls
and foundation of the house, and the soil of the hill,
with as much force as during the first hour. When
Roger examined the red precipice from which he looked
down upon the rushing stream, he perceived that not
a yard of Linacre’s garden could now be in existence.
That garden, with its flourishing vegetables, its rare,
gay, sweet flowers, and its laden fruit trees,—that
garden which he and Stephen could not help admiring,
while they told everybody that it had no business in
the middle of their carr,—that garden, its earth and
its plants, was all spread in ruins over the marsh; and
instead of it would be found, if the waters could be
dried up, a deep, gravelly, stony watercourse, or a
channel of red mud. Roger wondered whether the
boy and girl were aware of this fate of their garden ;
or whether they supposed that everything stood fast
and in order under the waters. He wanted to point
out the truth to them ; and looked up to the chamber
window, in hopes that they might be watching him
from it. No one was there, however. On glancing
higher, he saw them sitting within the balustrade on
102 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

the roof. They were all looking another way, and not
appearing to think of him at all. He watched them
fora long while ; but they never turned towards the
Red-hill. He could have made them hear by call-
ing; but they might think he wished to be with them,
or wanted something from them, instead of understand-
ing that he desired to tell them that their pretty
garden was destroyed. So he began to settle with him-
self which of his dead game he would have for supper,
and then fed his fire, in order to cook it. He now
thought that he should have liked a bird for supper,—
a pheasant or partridge, instead of a rabbit or leveret,
of which he had plenty. He felt it very provoking
that he had neither a net nor a gun, for securing fea-
thered game, when there was so much on the hill; so
that he must put up with four-footed game, when he
had rather have had a bird. There was no bread,
either, or vegetables; but he minded that less, because
neither of these were at hand, and he had often lived
for a long time together on animal food. During the
whole time of his listless preparations for cooking his
supper, he glanced up occasionally at the roof; but he
never once saw the party look his way. He thought it
very odd that they should care so much less about him,
than he knew they did when Stephen and he came
into the carr. They neither seemed to want him nor
to fear him to-day.

At length he went to set Spy loose, in order to feed
him, and to have a companion : for he felt rather dull,
while seeing how busily the party on the house-top
were talking. When he returned with Spy, the sun
had set, and there was no one on the house-top. A
faint light from the chamber window told that Ailwin
ROVER HIS OWN MAST. 103

and the children were there. Roger wondered how
they had managed to kindle a fire, while he had the
tinder-box. He learned the truth, soon after, by up-
setting the tinder-box, as he moved the blanket. The
steel fell out ; and the flint and tinder were found to
be absent. In his present mood, he considered it a
prodigious impertinence to impose upon him the labour
of finding a flint the next day, and the choice whether
to make tinder of a bit of his shirt, or to use shavings
of wood instead. He determined to show, meanwhile,
that he had plenty of fire for to-night, and therefore
heaped it up.so high, that there was some danger that
the lower branches of the ash under which he sat
would shrivel up with the heat.

No blaze that he could make, however, could con-
ceal from his own view the cheerful light from the
chamber window. There was certainly a good fire
within ; and those who sat beside it were probably
better companions to each other than Spy was to him.
The dog was dull and would not play; and Roger
himself soon felt too tired, or something, to wish to
play. He could not conceal from himself that he
should much like to be in that chamber from which
the light shone, even though there was no cherry-
_ brandy there now.

The stars were but just beginning to drop into
the sky, and the waste of waters still looked yellow
and bright to the west ; but Roger's first day of having
his own way had been quite long enough; and he
spread his rug, and rolled himself in his blanket for
the night. Spy, being invited, drew near, and lay
down too. Roger was still over-heated, from having
made such an enormous fire; but he muffled up his
104 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

head in his blanket, as if he was afraid lest even his
dog should see that he was crying.

CHAPTER VIL
ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER.

More than once, during the long night, Roger heard
strange sounds; and Spy repeatedly raised his head,
and seemed uneasy. Above the constant flow of the
stream, there came occasionally a sort of roar, then a
rumble and a splash ; and the stream appeared to flow
mn faster. Once Roger rose, in belief that the house,
—the firm, substantial, stone house,—was washed
down. But it was not so. There was no moon at the
time of night when he looked forth ; but it was clear
starlight ; and there stood the dark mass of the build-
ing,in the midst of the grey waters. Roger vowed
he would not get up from his warm rug again, on any
false alarm ; and so lay till broad daylight, sometimes
quite asleep, and sometimes drowsily resolving that he
would think no more of uncle Stephen, except in the
day-time.

Soon after sunrise, however, a renewed rumble and
splash roused him to open his eyes wide. What he
saw made him jump up, and run to the edge of the
precipice, to see all he could. The greater part of the
roof of the house was gone; and there were cracks
in the solid stone walls through which the yellow sun- |
shine found its way. One portion of the wall leaned
in; another leaned out towards the water. At first
ROGER NOT HiS OWN MASTER. 103

Roger expected to see the whole building crumble
down into the stream, and supposed that the inhabi-
tants might be swept quite away. He gazed with the
strange feeling that not a creature might be now left
alive in that habitation.

Roger’s heart sank within him at the idea of his
own solitude, if this were indeed the case. He had
nothing to fear for his own safety. The Red-hill
would not be swept away.. He could live as he was
for a long time to come; till some steps should be
taken for repairing the damage of the flood ; till some
explorers should arrive in a boat; which he had no
doubt would happen soon. It was not about his own
safety that Roger was anxious ; but it frightened him
to think of being entirely alone in such a place as this,
with the bodies of all whom he knew best lying uader
the waters on every side of him. If he could have
Oliver with him to speak to, or even little George, it
would make all the difference to him. He really hoped
they were left alive. When he began to consider, he
perceived that the bridge-rope remained, stretched as
tight as ever. The chamber window, and indeed all
that wall of the house, looked firm and safe ; and such
roof as was left was over that part. This was natural
enough, as the violence of the flood was much greater
on the opposite side of the house than on the garden
side. The staircase was safe. It was laid open to
view very curiously ; but it stood upright and steady ;
and,. at length, to Roger’s great relief, Mildred ap-
peared upon it. She merely ran up to fetch something
from the roof; but her step, her run and jump, was,
to Roger’s mind, different from what it would have
been if she had been in great afiliction or fear. In
106 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

his pleasure at this, he snatched his cap from his head,
and waved it: but the little girl was very busy, and
she did not see him. It was odd, Roger said to him- |
self, that the Linacres were always now thinking of
everything but him, when formerly they could never
watch him enough.

After a while he descended the bank, to fill his
boiler with water. It was necessary to do this for
some time before drinking, in order that the mud
might settle. Even after standing for several hours,
the day before, the water was far from clear ; and it
was very far from sweet. This was nothing new to
Roger, however, who had been accustomed to drink
water like this as often as he had been settled in the
carr, though he had occasionally been allowed to mix
with it some gin from his uncle’s bottle. He was
thirsty enough this morning to drink almost anything ;
but he did think the water in the boiler looked parti-
cularly muddy and disagreeable. Spy seemed as
thirsty as himself, and as little disposed to drink of the
stream as it ran below. He pranced about the boiler,
as if watching for an opportunity to wet his tongue, if
his master should turn his back for a minute.

The opportunity soon came; for Roger saw the
bridge basket put out of the window by Aiiwin ; after
which, Oliver got into it. Ailwin handed him some-
thing, as he pulled away for the Red-hill. Witha
skip and a jump Roger ran to the beach to await
him.

“Pull away! That’sright! Glad to see you!” ex-
claimed Roger. “ Halloo, Spy! Down, sir! Pleased
to see you, Oliver.”

Oliver was glad to hear these words. He did not
ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER. 107

know but that he might have been met by abuse and
violence, for having carried home the basket.

“ Would you like some milk?” asked Oliver, as he
eame near.

“ Ay, that I should,” replied Roger.

“Leave yonder water to your dog, then, and drink
this,” said Oliver, handing down a small tin can. “ You
must let me have the can, though. Almost all our
kitchen things floated out thtough the wall, at that
breach that you see, during the night. You must
give me the can again, if you would like that I should
bring you some more milk this afternoon. The poor
cow is doing but badly, and we cannot feed her as we
should like : but she has given milk enough for George
this morning, with a little to spare for us and you.
You seem to like it,” he added, laughing to see how
Roger smacked his lips over the draught.

“That I do. Itis good stuff, I know,” said Roger,
as he drained the last drop.

“Then I will bring you some more in the afternoon,
if there is any to spare from poor George’s supper.”

“That's a pity. You've enough to do, I think.
Suppose I come over. Eh?”

“There is something to be said about that,” replied
Oliver, gravely. ‘We do not want to keep what we
have to ourselves. We have gota chest of meal, this
morning.”

“A chest of meal !”

“Yes: alarge chest, and not wet at all, except an
inch deep all round the outside. We caught it just
now, as it was floating by ; and we should like you to
have some of it,as you have no bread here: but you
know, Roger, you kicked our poor cow when she was
198 THE SETTLERS AT HOME

too weak to stand; and you carried aw&)- our tinder-
box when you knew we had no fire. We don’t want
to have you with us to do such things: and so I think
I had better bring you some of the meal over here.
And yet it is a pity; for the broth that Ailwin is
making will be very good.”

“ ll come over,” said Roger. “I am stronger than
you, and I can help you to feed the cow, and every-
thing.”

“T can do all that, with Ailwin to help: and I am
sure Mildred had much rather you should stay here,
unless you behave differently. And poor little George,
too! he is not well, and we do not like that he should
be frightened.”

“TJ sha’n’t frighten him or anybody, you'll see. You
had better let me come ; and Spy and I will bring you
a lot of game.”

“We don’t want any game, at present. We have
plenty to eat.”

“You had better let me come and help you. I
wont hurt George, or anything. Come, I promise you
you sha’n’t repent doing me a good turn.”

“Then you shall come, Roger. But do remember
that Mildred is only a little girl; and consider poor
Geordie too; he is quite ill, You wont tease him ?
Well, here’s the line. Come as soon as you please,
after I am landed.”

Oliver had been in the basket, out of reach, during
this conversation. He now flung down the basket line,
and returned. Roger was not long in following, with
some of his game, some firewood, and his dog. He
left his bedding hidden in the thicket, and the tinder-
box in a dry hole in a tree, that he might come back
ROGER NOT HIS OWN MAST. 109

co his island at any time, in case of quarrel with the
Linacres.

Poor little George did indeed look ill. He was
lying across Mildred’s lap, very fretful, his cheeks
burning hot, his lips dry, and his mouth sore. Ailwin
had put a charm round his neck the day before ; but
he did not seem to be the better for it. Busy as she
was, she tied on another the moment she heard from
Oliver that Roger was coming. When Roger and the
basket darkened the window, Ailwin and Mildred
called out at once, “here he is!” George turned his
hot head that way, and repeated “here he is }

“Yes, here Iam! and here’s what I have brought,”
said Roger, throwing down two rabbits and a leveret.
He took up the leveret presently, and brought it to
George, that he might feel how soft the fur was. The
child flinched from him at first, but was persuaded, at
length, to stroke the leveret’s back, and play with its
paws.

“That boy has some good in him after all,” thought
Ailwin, “unless this be a trick. It is some trick,
Tl be bound.”

“ You are tight and dry enough here,” said Roger,
glancing round the room. “ By the look of the house
from the hill, I thought you had been all in ruins.”

The minds of Ailwin and Mildred were full of the
events of the night ; and they forgot that it was Roger
they were speaking to when they told what their
terrors had been. Ailwin had started up, in the
middle of the night, and run to the door; and, on
opening it, had seen the stars shining bright down
into the house. The roof of the other side of the
house was clean gone. When Mildred looked out

99
Lio THE SETTLERS AT HOKU.

from the same place at sunrise, she saw the water
spread almost under her feet. The floor of the land-
ing-place, and the ceiling of one of the lower rooms had
been broken up, and the planks were floating about.

“Where are they ?” asked Roger, quickly. “To be
sure you did not let them float off, aloag with the
kitchen things that got away through the wall 2”

Mildred did not know that any care had been taken
of the planks. Roger was off to see, saying that they
might be glad of every foot of plank they could lay
their hands on.

Ailwin and Mildred saw no more of either of
the boys during the whole morning. They might
have looked out to discover what was doing, but that
neither of them liked the sight of the bare rafters over
head, or of the watery precipice at their feet. So
Ailwin went on making cakes of a curious sort, as
she said ; cakes of meal, made up with milk and water,
without either yeast or salt. They would not be
spoiled by the water ; that was all that could be said
for them. The water which was filtered through
gravel turned out quite good enough to be used in
cooking, and even for poor George to drink, so very
thirsty as he was. While the fowl simmered in the
pot, and the cakes lay toasting on the hob, Ailwin
busied herself in making the beds, and then in rub-
bing, with her strong arm, everything in the room,
helping the floor, the walls and the furniture to dry
from the wetting of yesterday. From the smell, she
said, she should have thought that everything in the
house was growing mouldy before her face. They were
all aware that the bad smell which they had observed
yesterday, was growing worse every hour. Roger had
ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER. Tid

been much struck with it the moment he entered the
window.

When the boys at length appeared, to say how
hungry they were, they burst in more like two school-
fellows who have been trying a new game, than
little lads on whom others were depending for sub-
sistence in the midst of a heavy calamity. They had
made a raft—a real stout, broad raft, which would be
of more use tothem (now the currents were slackening)
than anything they had attempted yet. Oliver told
that among the many things which the current brought
from poor neighbour Gool’s, was a lot of harness from
his stables. Roger had seen at once what strong fasten-
ings this harness would make for their raft. They had
then crossed to their own stable, and found theirown suit
of harness hanging safe against the wall which remained.
They had tied their planks to three stout beams, which
they had pulled out from the ruined part of their
house wall. it had been pretty hard work ; but the
raft was secure, and well fastened, moreover, to a door-
post, with a long line; so that they might row about
without having always to be looking that they were
not carried abroad into the carr. Oliver really
thought it was almost as good as having a boat. Roger
protested that it was better, because it would hold
more goods: but the brother and sister could not
think that the raft was the best of the two, when they
remembered that a boat would carry them, perhaps,
to their mother’s arms. Oliver knew what Mildred
was thinking of when he said,—

“We must not dream of getting away on our raft,
dear. It would upset in the currents twenty times
between this place and the hills.”
113 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“Well, what of that?’ said Roger. “Who wants
to get to the hills? We have got all we want for 4
good while here. We can take our pleasure, and
live as free as wild-ducks in a pond that nobody comes
near.”

Roger was quite in spirits and good humour. It
may seem strange that a boy who was so lazy the day
before, as to wish that hares ran about ready roasted,
should work so hard this day at so severe a job as
making a raft. But it was natural enough. There is
nothing interesting to a dull and discontented person,
all alone, in preparing a meal for his own self to eat :
but there is something animating in planning a clever
job, which can be set about immediately—a ready and
willing companion being at hand, to help, and to talk
with. There was also something immediate to be
gained by finishing this raft. One thing or another
was floating by every quarter of an hour, which it
would be worth while to seize and bring home. As
Roger saw, now a haycock, and now a man’s hat,
float by, he worked harder and harder, that as few
treasures as possible might be thus lost. Oliver felt
much in the same way, particularly from his want of
a hat or cap. Ailwin had made him tie a handker-
chief round his head; but it heated him, without
saving him much from the scorching of the sun
on his head, and the glare from the waters to his
eyes.

Ailwin had looked for some compliments to her
cookery from the hungry boys; but they forgot, in
their eagerness about the raft, that it was a treat
in these days to have meal-cakes; and they ate
aud talked, without thinking much of what it was
ROGER NOF HIS OWN MASTER. 113

that they were putting into their mouths. Wnen
they went off again to see what they could find, it ir
not to be “old how Mildred would have liked to go
with them. She did not want her dinner, to which
Ailwin said they two would now sit down comfortably.
She did not now mind the precinice and the broken
walls, and the staring rafters. She longed to stand
somewhere, and see the boys take prizes in the stream.
She had held poor George all the morning ; for he
would not let her put him on the bed. Her back
ached, her arms were stiff, and her very heart was
sick with his crying. He had been fretting or wailing
ever since daylight ; and Mildred felt asif she could not
bear it one minute longer. Just then she heard a
laugh from the boys outside; and Ailwin began to
‘sing, as she always did when putting away the pots
and pans. Nobody seemed to care: nobody seemed
to think of her ; and Mildred remembered how difie-
rent it would have been if her mother had been there.
Her mother would have been thinking about poor
Georgé all the morning: but her mother would have
thought of her too; would have remembered that
she must be tired ; and have cheered her with talk,
or with saying something hopeful about the poor
baby. |

When Aiiwin stopped her loud singing, for a mo-
ment, while considering in which corner she should set
own her stew-pan, she heard a gentle sob. Looking
round, she saw Mildred’s face covered with tears.

“What's the matter now, dear?” said she. “Is the
baby worse? No,—he don’t seem worse to me.”

“T don’t know, I'm sure. But, Ailwin, I am so
tired, I don’t know what to do; and I cannot bear to

8
114 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

hear him cry so. He has been erying in this way all
to-day ; and it is the longest day I ever knew.”

“Well, I’m sure I wish we could think of anything
that would quiet him. If we had only his go-cart,
now, or his wooden lamb, with the white wool upon it,
that he is so fond of. . . . But they are under waiter,
below.”

“But if you could only take him for a little while,
Ailwin, I should be so glad! I would wash up all
your dishes for you.”

“Take him! O, that’s what you are at? To be
sure I will; and I might have thought of that before,
—only I had my pans and things to put away. I'll
wash my hands now directly, and take him :—only,
there is not much use in washing one’s hands ; this foul
damp smell seems to stick to everything one touches.
Tt is that boy’s doing, depend upon it. He is at the
bottom of all mischief—Ay, Mildred, you need not
object to what I say. After what I saw of him yester-
day morning, with all that plague of animals about
him on the stairs, you will never persuade me that he
has not some league with bad creatures, a good way
off. I don’t half like Oliver’s being with him on the
raft, in the stream there. That raft was wonderfully
ready made for two slips of boys.”

“They had the planks ready to their hands,” said
Mildred, trembling ; “and leather harness and ropes tu
tie it with. I think they might to do it as they said.
What harm do you suppose will happen, Ailwin? I
am sure Oliver would do nothing wrong, about making
the raft, or anything else.—O dear! I wish George
would not cry so!”

“Here, give him to me,” said Ailwin, who had now
f

ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER. 11%

washed her hands, and taken off her cooking apron.
“There, go you, and finish the dishes, and then to
play,—there’s a dear! And don’t think about George,
or about Roger, and the raft, or anything that will vex
you,—there’s a dear !”

Ailwin gave Mildred asmacking kiss, as she received
little George from her; and, though Mildred could
not, as she was bid, put away all vexing thoughts, she
was cheered by Ailwin’s good-will.

She had soon done washing the few plates they had
used, though she did the washing with the greatest
care, because it was her mother’s best china, brought
from Holland, and kept in the upstairs cupboard,—
ready, as it now seemed, to serve the present party,
who must otherwise have gone without plates and
cups, their common sets being all under water,—broken
to pieces, no doubt, by this time.—George was already
quieter than he had been all day ; so that Mildred felt
the less scruple about going out to amuse herself,—or
rather, to watch her brother; for she hardly dared to
take any pleasure in the raft, after what Ailwin had
said ; though she kept repeating to herself that it was
all nonsense, such as Ailwin often talked; such as
Mrs. Linacre said her children must neither believe nor
laugh at.

Mildred went at once to the top of the staircase,
which stood up firm, though the building had fallen
away on almost every side of it. It was rather a giddy
affair at first, sitting on the top stair of a spiral stair-
case, of which part of the walls were gone, while the
bare rafters of the roof let the water be seen through
them. Mildred soon grew accustomed to her place
however, and fixed her eyes on the raft with which thi

8—a2
116 THI SETTLERS AT HOME.

boys were plying in the stream. She supposed they
had caught a hay-cock ; for the cow was eating, very
industriously,—no longer on the dung-hill, but on a
slip of ground which had been left dry between it and
the stable. The cow had company to share her good
cheer: whether invited or uninvited, there was no
saying. A strange pony was there ; and a sheep, and
a well-grown calf. These animals all pressed upon one
another on the narrow space of ground, thrusting their
heads over or under one another’s necks, to snatch

the hay.
“How hungry they are!” thought Mildred, “and
how they tease one another!” She then remembered

having read of men starving in a boat at sea, who be-
came as selfish as these animals in snatching from one
another their last remaining morsels of food. She
hoped that she and Oliver should not be starved, at
last, in the middle of this flood: but if they were, she
did not believe that Oliver and she could ever snatch
food from each other, or help themselves before
Geordie, whatever Roger might do, or even Ailwin.
Ailwin was very kind and good-tempered ; but then
she was apt to be so very hungry! However, there
was no occasion to think of want of food yet.
The meal which had been wetted, round the sides and
under the lid of the chest, served well to feed the
fowls; and they seemed to find something worth
picking up in the mud and slime that the waters had
left behind as they sank. The poor sow had farrowed
too. She and her little pigs were found almost dead
with hunger and wet: but the meal chest had come
just in time to save them. Ailwin had said it was
worth while to spare them some of the meal;
ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER. 117
for the little pigs, if their mother was well fed, would
give them many a good dinner. There was no occasion
to fear want of food at present.

The boys were on their raft in the middle of the
stream, working away with their broad paddles, evi-
dently wishing to catch something which was floating
down. Mildred could see only a small tree bobbing
about, sometimes showing its roots above water, and
sometimes its leafy branches. What could they want
with a young tree, so well off as they were for drier
fire-wood than it would make? They were determined
to have it, it was clear; for Roger threw down his
paddle as they neared the tree, caught up a long rope,
and gave it a cast towards the branching top. As the
rope went through the air, Mildred saw that it had a
noose at the end. The noose caught :—the tree gave
a topple in the water, when it found itself stopped in
its course with ajerk ; and the boys set up a shout as
they pulled for the house, hauling in their prize after
them.

Mildred ran down the stairs as far as she dared,—
almost to the very brink of the water. There she was
near enough to see and hear what was doing. The
tree was an apple-tree ; and though the ripest apples
were gone, a good many were left, which would
be a treat when cooked. The boys saw her watching
them, and Roger said it was not fair that she should
stand idle while they were working like horses :—why
should not she gather the apples before they were all
knocked off, instead of keeping other people out of the
stream to do such girls’ work? Oliver said she had
been as useful as anybody all day ; and she should do
as she liked now. He called out to Mildred, and asked
L18 THE SETTLERS AT HORE.

her whether she should like to gather the apples off the
tree, while they went to see what else they could find.
Mildred replied that she should like it very much, if
they could bring in the tree to the place where she
was. Ailwin would find coma’ for her to put the
apples in.

Neither the raft nor the tree, however, could be got
through the breach in the wall. Oliver fetched the
tub, which had been discarded since the raft had been
thought of. He rowed himself to the staircase in this
tub, and asked Mildred if she was afraid just to cross
those few yards to the wall. He would find her a nice
seat on the wall, where she could sit plucking the
apples, and seeing all they did on the raft. He would
be: sure to come for her, as soon as she should make a
signal for him. Meantime, the tub would hold the
apples,

Mildred had a great fancy for sharing the boys’
adventures; and though the tub looked a small,
unsteady boat, she ventured to slide down into it, and
sit in it, while her brother rowed her over to the
broken wall. She was so silent that Oliver thought
she was frightened ; but she was considering whether
or not to tell him of Ailwin’s fears of his being
on the raft with Roger. Before she had decided,
they had come within hearing of Roger, and it was
too late.

After finding a steady broad stone in the wall for
her to sit on, Oliver chose to stay a little while, to cut
and break off from the trunk the branches that had
the most fruit on them. This would make Mildred’s
work much easier. Oliver also chose, in spite of all
Roger could say, to leave her one of their paddles. He
ROGER NOT HIS OWN WASTER. 119

considered \though he did not say it) that some acci-
dent might possibly happen to the raft, to prevent their
returning for her: and he declared that Mildred
should have an oar to row herself in with, if she
should have a mind to join Ailwin, at any moment,
instead of waiting where she was. So having
moored the tub inside the house wall, and the apple-
_ tree outside, and established Mildred on a good seat
between, the boys pushed off again.

Mildred found that she had undertaken a wet and
dirty task. The branches of the apple-tree were
dripping, and the fruit covered with slime ; but these
are things which must not be minded in times of
flood. So she went on, often looking away, however,
to wonder what things were which were swept past
her, and to watch the proceedings of the boys, After
a while, she became so bold as to consider what a
curious thing it would be if she, without any raft,
should pick up some article as valuable as any that
had swum the stream. This thought was put into her
head by seeing something occasionally flap out upon
the surface of the muddy water, as if it were spread
out below. It looked to her like the tail of a coat, or
the skirt of a petticoat. She was just about to fish it
up with her paddle, when it occurred to her that it
might be the clothing of a drowned person. She
shrank back at the thought, and in the first terror of
having a dead body so near her, called Oliver’s name.
He did not hear; and she would not repeat the call
when she saw how busy he was. She tried not to
think of this piece of cloth ; but it came up perpetually
before her eyes, flap, flapping, till she felt that it would
be best to satisfy herself at once, as to what it was.
120 TILE SETTLERS AT HONE.

She poked her paddle underneath the flap, and
found that it was caught and held down by something
heavy. She tugged hard at it, and raised some more
blue cloth. She did not believe there was a body
now; and she laid hold of the cloth and drew it in. It
was heavy in itself, and made more so by the wet, so
that the little girl had to set her foot against a stone in
the wall, and employ all her strength, before she could
land the cloth, yard after yard, upon the wall. It
was a piece of home-spun, probably laid out on the
grass of some field in the Levels, after dyeing, and so
carried away. When Mildred had pulled in a vast
quantity, there was some resistance ;—the rest would
not come. Perhaps something heavy had lodged upon
it, and kept it down. Again she used her paddle,
setting her feet against one stone, and pressing her
back against another, to give her more power. In the
midst of the effort, the stone behind her gave way. It
was her paddle now, resting against some support
under water, which saved her from popping into the
water with the great stone. As it was, she swayed
upon her seat, and was very nearly gone, while the
heavy stone slid in, and raised a splash which wetted
her from head to foot, and left her trembling in every
limb. She had fancied, once or twice before, that the
wall shook under her: she was now persuaded that it
was all shaking, and would soon be carried quite away.
She screamed out to Oliver to come and save her. She
must have called very loud; for Ailwin, with George
in her arms, was out on the staircase in a moment.

There was a scuffle on the raft. It seemed as if
Oliver was paddling with one hand, and keeping off
Roger with the other. It was terrible to see them,— _
ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER. 121

it was so like fighting, in a most dangerous place.
There was a splash. Mildred’s eyes grew dim in a
moment, and she could see nothing: but she heard
Ailwin’s voice,—very joyful,—calling out to Oliver,—

“Well done, Oliver! Well rid of him! Pull
away from him, Oliver! He is full able to take care
of himself, depend upon it. He was never made to be
drowned. Come and help Mildred, there’s a dear!
Never mind Roger.”

Mildred soon saw the raft approaching her, with
Oliver alone upon it.

“Oh! Oliver, where is he? What have you done?”
cried Mildred, as her brother arrived at the wall.

Oliver. was very hot, and his lips quivered as he
answered,—

“T don’t know what I have done. I could not help
it. He wanted me not to come to you when you
screamed. He wanted to catch the chest instead. I
tripped him up—off into the water. He can swim.
But there is the tub—give me hold of the rope—
quick! Iwill send it out into the stream. He may
meet it.”

Down went all the gathered apples into the water,
within the wall, and off went the tub outside. Oliver
fastened the line round a heavy stone in the wall.

“T wish I had never screamed!” exclaimed Mildred.

“Tam sure I wish so too. You musé leave off
screaming so, Mildred. I am sure I thought you were
in the water, in the middle of all that splash, or I
should not have been in such a hurry. If Roger
should be drowned, it will be all your doing, for
screaming so.”

Mildred did not scream now; but she cried very
122 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

bitterly. It was soon seen, however, that Roger was
safe. He was swimming in the still water on the
opposite side, and presently landed beside the pony and
cow. He left off wringing the wet out of his hair and
clothes, to shake both his fists at Oliver in a threaten-
ing way.

“ Oh, look at him! He will kill you!” cried Mil
dred. “I never will scream again.”

“ Never mind, as long as he is safe,” said Oliver.
“JT don’t care for his shaking his fists. It was my
business to save you, before caring about him, or all
the chests in the Levels. Never mind now, dear.
You wont scream again without occasion, I know.
What made you do so? You can’t think what a
shriek it was. It went through my head.”

“Part of the wall fell ; and the whole of it shakes
so, I am sure it will all be down presently. I wish we
were at home. But what shall we ever do about
Roger? He will kill you, if you go near him: and he
can’t stay there.”

“Leave Roger to me,” said Oliver, feeling secretly
some of his sister’s fear of the consequences of what
had just passed. He stepped on the wall, and was con-
vinced that it was shaking,—almost rocking. He de-
clared that it was quite unsafe, and that he must look
to the remaining walls before they slept another night
in the building. Mildred must get upon the raft
immediately. What was that heap of blue cloth ?

Mildred explained, and the cloth was declared too
valuable to be left behind. Two pairs of hands
availed to pull up the end which stuck under water,
and then the children found themselves in possession
of a whole piece of homespun.
KOGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER. 123

“May we useit? We did not make it, or buy it,”
gaid Mildred.

“T thought of that too,” replied her brother. “We
will see about that. It is our business to save it, at any
rate; so help me with it. How heavy it is with the
water !”

They pulled a dozen. apples, and rowed away home
vith their prize. |

Ailwin said, as she met them on the stairs, that she
was glad enough to see them home again ; and more
especially without Roger.

‘Roger must be fetched, however,” said Oliver ,
“and the sooner the better.”

“Oh not yet !” pleaded Mildred. “ He is so angry !”

“That is the very thing,” said Oliver. “1 want to
show him that I tripped him over, not in anger, but
because I could not help it. He will never believe
but that it was malice, from beginning to end, if I do
not go for him directly.”

“ But he will thrash you. You know he can. He
is ever so much stronger than you ; and he is in such
a passion, I do not know what he may not do.”

“ What can I do?” said Oliver. “I can’t leave him
there, standing dripping wet, with the cow and the
pony.”

“Would it be of any use if I were to go with you,
and say it was all my fault ?’ asked Mildred, trembling.

“No, no; you must not go.”

“T would go, if there was no water between, and if
Mildred would take care of the baby,” said Ailwin.

“Oh do,—do go! You are so strong!” said both
the children.

“Why, you see, I can’t abide going on the water,
124 THE SETYLEKS AT LiOhE.

any way, and never could: and most of all without
so much as a boat.” :

“ But I will row you as carefully,” said Oliver, “as
safely as in any boat. You see how often we have
crossed, and how easy it is. You cannot think what
care I will take of you, if you will go.”

“Then there’s the coming back,” objected Ailwin.
“Tf I am on board the same raft with Roger, we shall
all go to the bottom, that’s certain !”

“ How often have I been to the bottom? And yet
I have been on the raft with Roger, ever since it
was made.”

“Well, and think how near Mildred was going to
the bottom, only just now. I declare I thought we
had seen the last of her.”

“Roger had nothing to do with that, you know
very well. But I will tell you how we can manage.
You can carry your pail over, and,—(never mind its
being so early)—you can be milking the cow while
I bring Roger over here; and I can come back for
you. That will do,—wont it? Come,—fetch your
pail, Depend upon it that is the best plan.”

Mildred remembered, with great fear, that by this
plan Roger would be left with her and George while
Oliver went to fetch Ailwin home: but she did not
say a word, feeling that she who had caused the mis-
chief ought not to object to Oliver’s plan for getting
out of the scrape. She need not have feared that
Oliver would neglect her feelings. Just before he put
off with Ailwin and her milk-pail, he said to his sister—

“T shall try to set Roger down somewhere, so that
he cannot plague you and George: but you had better

bolt yourself into the room upstairs when you see us
ROGHR NOT HIS OWN HASTEN. 125

coming: and on no account open the door again till I
bid you.” |

Mildred promised, and then sat down with George
asleep on her lap, to watch the event. She saw Ail-
win make some odd gestures as she stood on the raft,
balancing herself as if she thought the boards would
gape under her feet. Oliver paddled diligently, look-
ing behind him oftener and oftener, as he drew near
the landing-place, as if to learn what Roger meant to
do when they came within his reach.

The moment the boys were within arm’s length of
each other, Roger sprang furiously upon Oliver, and
would have thrown him down in an instant, if Oliver
had not expected this, and been upon his guard. Oliver
managed to"jJump ashore; and there the boys fought
fiercely. ‘There could be no doubt from the beginning
which would be beaten,—Roger was so much the
taller and stronger of the two, and so much the less
peaceable in all his habits than Oliver: but yet Oliver
made good fight for some time, before he was knocked
down completely. Roger was just about to give his
fallen enemy a kick in the stomach, when Ailwin
seized him, and said she was not going to see her young
master killed before her face, by boy or devil, which-
ever Roger might be. She tripped him up: and be-
fore Oliver had risen, Roger lay sprawling, with Ailwin
kneeling upon him to keep him down. Roger shouted
out fine they were two to one,—cowards, to fight
him two to one!

“T am as sorry for that as you can be,” said Oliver,
dashing away the blood which streamed from his nose.
-“T wish I were as old and as tall as you: but I am
not. And this is no fighting for play, when it would
126 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

not signify if I was beaten every day for a week. Here
are Mildred and the baby; I have to take care of
them till we know what has become of my father and
mother; and if you try to prevent me, I will get Ailwin,
or anybody or thing I can, to help me, sooner than
they shall be hurt. If father and mother ever
come back to take care of Mildred, I will fight you
every day till I beat you, and let nobody interfere :
but till then, I will go to Mildred as often as she calls,
if you drown for it, as I showed you this morning.”

Roger answered only by fresh kicks and struggles.
Ailwin said aloud that she saw nothing for it but
leaving him on this spit of land, to starve on the dung-
hill. There would be no taking him over to the house
in this temper. Roger vowed he would drown all the
little pigs, and hough the cow. He had done such a
thing before ; and he would do it again ; so that they
should not have a drop more milk for George.

“That will never do,” said Oliver. “Ailwin, do
you think we could get him over to the Red-hill? He
would have plenty to eat there, and might do as he
pleased, and be out of our way and the cow’s. I could
carry him his dog.”

Ailwin asked Oliver to bring her the cord from off
the raft, and they two could tie up the boy from doing
mischief. Oliver brought the cord, but he could not
bear to think of using it so.

“Come, now, Roger,” said he, “you picked this
quarrel ; and you may get out of it in a moment. We
don’t want to quarrel at,such a time as this. Never
mind what has happened. Only say you wont meddle
between me and the others while the flood lasts; and
you shall help me to row home, and I will thank you.
ROGER NOT HIS: OWN MASTER. 127

After all, we can fight it out some other day, if you
like.”

More kicks from Roger. No other answer. So
Oliver and Ailwin tied his arms and legs with the
cord ; and then Ailwin proceeded to milk the cow, and
Oliver, after washing his face, to give the pony some
more hay, and see how the little pigs went on. The
animals were all drooping, and especially the cow.
Oliver wished to have given the pigs some of her milk,
as the poor sow seemed weak and ill; but the cow
gave so very little milk this afternoon, that there was
none to spare. Her legs trembled as she stood to be
milked ; and she lay down again, as soon as Ailwin
had done.

“The poor thing ain’t long for this world,” said
Ailwin. “Depend upon it that boy has- bewitched
her. I don’t believe she trembles in that way when
he is on the other side of the water.”

“You will see that in the morning,” said Oliver.
“Shall we take him on the raft now? I don’t like to
carry him tied so, for fear he should throw himself
about, and roll over into the water. He would cer-
tainly be drowned.”

“ Leave that to him, Oliver: and take my word for
it, that boy was never made to be drowned.”

“You thought the same about Stephen, you know ;
and he is drowned, I am afraid.”

“Neither you nor I know that. I will believe it
when I see it,” said Ailwin with a wise look.

It was now Roger’s mood to lie like one dead. He
did not move a muscle when he was lifted, and laid on
the raft. Ailwin was so delighted to see the boy she
was so afraid of thus humbled, that she could not help
128 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

giving his face a splash and rub with the muddy water
of the stream as he lay.

“ Ailwin, for shame!” cried Oliver. “I will fight
you next, if you do so. You know you durst not, if
his hands were free.”

“To be sure, Oliver, that is the very reason. One
must take one’s revenge while one can. However, I
wont notice him any more till you do.”

“Cannot you set down your pail, and help me to
row ?” asked Oliver. He was quite tired. The raft
was heavy now; his nose had not left off bleeding,
and his head ached sadly. Three pulls from Ailwin
brought them nearer home than all Oliver’s previous
efforts. He observed that they must get round the
house, if possible, and into the stream which ran
through the garden, so as to land Roger on the Red-
hill.

There was not much difficulty in getting round, as
everything like a fence had long been swept away.
As they passed near the entrance-door to the garden,
they observed that the waters were still sinking. They
stood now only half-way up the door-posts. Oliver
declared that when he was a little less tired, he would
go through the lower rooms in a tub, and see whether
he could pick up anything useful. He feared, how-
ever, that almost everything must have been swept off
through the windows, in the water-falls that Mildred
had thought so pretty, the first day of the flood.

“There is a chest!” exclaimed Oliver, pointing to a
little creek in which a stout chest had stuck. “ Roger,
I do believe it is the very chest that .... that we
began our quarrel about. Come, now, is not this a
sign that we ought to make it un?”
ROGER NOT HIS OWN MASTER. 129

Roger would not appear to hear: so his companions
made short work of it. They pulled in for the shore
of the Red-hill, and laid Roger on the slimy bank :
—for they saw no occasion to carry one so heavy and
so sulky up to the nice bed of grass which was spread
at the top of the red precipice that the waters had cut.
Oliver knew that there was a knife in Roger’s pocket.
He took it out, cut the cord which tied his wrists, and
threw the knife to a little distance, where Roger could
easily reach it, in order to free his legs; but not in
time to overtake them before they should have put off
again.

Roger made one catch at Oliver’s leg, but missing
it, lay again as if dead; and Ailwin believed he had
not yet stirred when the raft rounded the house again,
with the great chest in tow.

Mildred was delighted to see them back, and especi-
ally without Roger. She thought Oliver’s face looked
very shocking : but Oliver would not say a word about
this, or anything else, till he had found Roger’s dog,
and gone over in the basket, to set him ashore with
his master.

“There !” said he, as he stepped in at the window
when this was accomplished, “we have done their
business. There they are, in their desert island, as
they were before. Now we need not think any more
about them, but attend to our own affairs.”

“Your face, Oliver! Pray do i

“Never mind my face, dear, if it does not frighten
poor Geordie. How is poor Geordie ?”

“TJ do not think he is any better. Inever saw him
so fretful, and so hot and ill. And he cries so dread-
fully ”



9
130 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

CHAPTER VII
NEW QUARTERS.

AILWwIn presently made George’s supper, with milk, a
little thickened with meal. They were all about the
child, watching how he would take it, when a loud
crack was heard.

“What is that?” cried Oliver.

“Tt is a crack,” said Ailwin, “in the wall or some-
where. I heard just such a one while Mildred was
gone out to play, after dinner.”

“ And there was another while you were away,”
said Mildred. “Some plaster fell that time :—look here!
in this corner.—What is the matter, Oliver? What
makes you look so frightened? What does it mean ?”

“Tt means, I am afraid, that more of the house is
coming down. Look at this great zigzag crack in the
wall !—and how loose the plaster hangs in that part
of the ceiling! I really think,—I am quite sure, we
ought not to stay here any longer.”

“But where can we go? What shall we do?”

“We must think about that, and lose no time. I
think this room will fall very soon.”

Mildred could not help crying, and saying that they
could not settle themselves, and rest at all. She never
saw anything like it. They were all so tired they did
not know what to do; and now they should have to
work as hard as ever. She never saw anything like it.

“ No, dear, never,” said her brother: “ and thousands
of people, far older than you, never saw anything like
NEW QUARTERS. 131

this flood. But you know, Mildred, we must not die,
if we can help it.”

This reminded Mildred who it was that set them
these heavy tasks,—that bade them thus labour to pre-
serve the lives He gave. She was silent. Oliver
went on—

“If ever we meet father and mother again, we shall
not mind our having been ever so much tired now.
We shall like telling them all our plans and doings, if
it should please God that we should ever sit with them
by the fire-side.”

“Or whenever we meet them in heaven, if they
should not be alive now,” said Mildred.

“Yes, dear ; but we will talk over all that when we
get to the Red-hill :—we must not talk any more now,
but set to work. However, I really think, Mildred,
that father and mother are still alive somewhere. I
feel as if they were.”

“But the Red-hill,” said Mildred, “what do you
mean about the Red-hill? We are not going there,
where Roger is,—are we ?”

“We must, dear. There is no other place. Roger
is very unkind: but floods and falling houses are un-
kinder still. Come, Ailwin, help me with the raft.
We must carry away what we can before dark. There
will be no house standing to-morrow morning, I am
afraid.”

“Sleep on the ground !” exclaimed Ailwin. “With-
out a roof to cover us! My poor grandfather little

thought { should ever come to that.”

“Tf you will move the beds, you need not sleep on
the bi nd.” said Oliver. “Now, Ailwin, don’t
you begin cry. Pray don’t You are a grown-up

9—2
132 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

woman, and Mildredand I are only children. You
ought to take care of us, instead of beginning to cry.”

“That is pretty true,” said Ailwin: “but I little
thought ever to sleep without a roof over my head.”

“Come, come, there are the trees,” said Oliver.
“They are something of a roof, while te leaves are
on.”

“ And there is all that cloth,” said Mildred ; “ that
immensely long piece of cloth. Would not that make
a tent, somehow ?”

“Capital !” cried Oliver. “How well we shall be
off with a cloth tent! It seems as if that cloth was
sent on purpose. It is so spoiled already, that we can
hardly do it any harm. And I am sure the person
that wove it would be very glad that it should cover
our heads to-night. I shall carry it and you across
before anything else—this very minute. I will run
down and bring the raft round to the door below. The
water is low enough now for you to get out that way.
—Oh dear! I wish I was not so tired! TI can hardly
move. But I must forget all that ; for it will not do
to stay here.”

While he was gone, Mildred asked Ailwin whether
she was very tired.

“Pretty much; but not so bad as he,” replied
Ailwin.

“Then do not you think you and I could fetch off
a good many things, while he watches Geordie on the
grass? If you thought you could row the raft, Iam
sure I could carry a great many things down stairs,
and land them on the hill.”

Ailwin had no doubt she could row, in such a narrow
and gentle stream as new ran through the garden.
NEW QUARTERS, 133

She made the trial first when Oliver was on board,
and several other times with Mildred, succeeding always
very well. Oliver was extremely glad of this ; for the
bridge-basket had been used so much, and sometimes
for such heavy weights, that it was wearing out, and
might break down at any moment. The bridge-rope,
too, being the stoutest cord they had, was very useful
for tying the raft to the trunk of the beech, so that it
could not be carried away. When once this rope was
well fastened, Oliver was content to rest himself on
the grass beside Geordie, and let the strong Ailwin and
little Mildred work as they wished. It surprised him,
well as he knew Ailwin, to see the loads she could
carry, bringing a good-sized mattress up the bank as
easily as he could have carried a pillow. She wrung
the wet out of the long piece of homespun, and spread
it out in the sun, to dry as much as it could before
dark, and seemed to think no more of it than Mildred
did of washing her doll’s petticoat.

Mildred took charge of the lighter articles that re-
quired care—her mother’s china, for. one thing ; for
it was found that nothing made of earthenware re-
mained unbroken in the lower rooms. There were
some pewter plates, which were now lodged under the
beech, together with pots and pans, knives and forks,
and horn spoons. There was no table light enough ‘to
be moved, but a small one of deal, which Ailwin
dragged out from under water, with all its legs broken:
but enough of it remained entire to make it prefer-
able to the bare ground for preparing their food on,
when once it should be dry. There was a stool a-piece
—not forgetting one for Roger; and Mildred took
care that Geordie should have his own little chair
134- THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

Not even Ailwin could carry a chest of drawers: but
she carried down the separate drawers, with the clothes
of the family in them. No one of the household had
ever seen a carpet ; but there was matting on some of
the floors. Ailwin pulled up pieces of this, to be some
protection against the damp and insects of the ground.

“Tt is as wet as water now,” said she: “but we
must not quarrel with anything to-day on that account ;
and matting will dry on the hill better than at home.
If it turns out rotten, we must try and spare a piece
of the cloth from overhead, to lay underfoot : but George
will feel it more like home, if he has a bit of matting
to trip his little foot against.”

So down stairs went a great bundle of wet matting.

“Will not that do for to-night?” asked Oliver,
languidly, as he saw Ailwin preparing to put off again,
when the sun was just touching the western hills.
“You know we have to put up the tent, and get some-
thing to eat before we can go to sleep ; and it has been
such a long, long day !”

“ As you please,” said Ailwin ; “but you said the
house would be down in the night; and there are
many things yet that we should be sorry to have to
do without.”

“Never mind them :—let them go, I am sure we all
want to be asleep more than anything else.”

“Sleep, indeed! Do you suppose I shall sleep with
that boy hid among the trees? NotI, you may rely
upon it. Those may that can: and I will watch.”

No one had yet mentioned Roger, though all felt
that his presence was a terrible drawback to the com-
fort of their establishment on the hill, which might
otherwise be, in fine weather, a tolerably pleasant one.
NEW QUARTERS. 135

It made Oliver indignant to think that a stout lad,
whom they had wished to make welcome to all they
had, in their common adversity, should be skulking in
the wood as an enemy, instead of helping them in their
labours, under circumstances in which all should be
friends. This thought made Oliver so angry that he
did not choose to speak of Roger, When Ailwin
offered to seek him out, and do her best to tie his
limbs again, and carry him away to any place the
children chose, Oliver begged her to say no more about
it ; and observed that they had better forget Roger
altogether, if they could, unless he should come to
make peace.

There was one, however, who could not for a moment
forget who was the cause of the late quarrel. Mildred
was very unhappy at the thought of the mischief she
had done by her shriek. Noé all her hard toil of this
evening could console her. When the cloth had been
spread over the lower branches of a great ash, so as to
shelter the party, in a careless way, for this one night
(when there was no time to make a proper tent), and
while Ailwin was heating something for supper, and
Oliver dozing with George on one of the beds, Mildred
stole away, to consider whether there was anything
that she could do to cure Roger’s anger. It did her
good, at least, to sit down and think about it. She
sat down under a tree, above where the bee-shed had
stood. The moon had just risen, and was very bright,
being near the full. The clouds seemed to have come
down out of the sky, to rest upon the earth ; for white
vapours, looking as soft as wreaths of snow, were
hovering over the wide waste of waters. Some of
these were gently floating or curling, while others
136 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

brooded still, like large white birds over their hidden
nests. It seemed to Mildred’s eye, however, as if a
clear path had been cut through these mists, from the
Red-hill to the moon on the horizon, and as if this
path had been strewed with quivering moonbeams.
She forgot, while gazing, that she was looking out
upon the carr,—upon muddy waters which covered
the ruins of many houses, and in which were hidden
the bodies of drowned animals, and perhaps of some
people. She looked upon the train of trembling light,
and felt not only how beautiful it was, but that He
whose hand kindled that mild heavenly lamp, and
poured out its rays before his children’s eyes, would
never forget and forsake them. While everything
was made so beautiful as to seem ordered for the plea-
sure of men, their lives and common comforts could
not be overlooked. So plain did this now appear to
Mildred, that she felt less and less anxious and fearful ;
and, after a time, as if she was afraid of nothing at all,
and could never be afraid again.

She determined to go and seek Roger,—not with
any wish like Ailwin’s, that he could be bound by
force, and carried away, to be alone and miserable,—
but with a much happier hope and purpose. She did
not think he would hurt her ; but, if he did, she had
rather that he should strike her than that Oliver and
he should fight, day after day, as Ailwin had whispered
to her they meant to do. She did not believe he
could come to blows with Oliver again, after she had
taken all the blame upon herself. So she set forth
to do so.

She went on quickly enough while she was upon
the slope, in the full moonlight, and with the blaze of
NEW QUARTERS. 137

Ailwin’s fire not far off on her right hand. But she
felt the difference when she entered the shade of the
trees. It was rather chilly there, and very silent
There was only a rustle in the grass and brambles
about her feet, as if she disturbed some small animals
hidden there. When she thought she was far enough
away from her party not to be heard by them, she
began to call softly, hoping that Roger might presently
answer, so that she should not have to go much further
into the darkness. But she heard nothing but her
own voice as she called, “Roger! Where are you,
Roger? I want to speak to you.”

Further and further on she went; and still there
was no reply. Though she knew every inch of her
way, she tripped several times over the roots of the
trees; and once she fell. She saw the stars in the
spaces of the wood, as she looked up, and knew that she
should soon come out upon the grass again. But when
she did so, she found it almost as dark as in the wood,
though the moon shone on the waters afar. She still
went on calling Roger—now a little louder, till she
stumbled over something which was not the root of a
tree, for it was warm, and it growled.

“ Bishop!” she exclaimed, in alarm; for next to
Roger, she had always been afraid of Roger’s dog.

“Why don’t you call him Spy ?” said Roger’s voice,
from the ground just before her. “What business
have you to call.him by his wrong name ?—how is he
ever to learn his name if people come calling him by
the wrong one? Get away—will you? I know what
I'll do if you come here, spoiling my dog.”

“T will go back directly when I have said one thing.
It was all my fault that you and Oliver quarrelled this


138 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

morning. I was frightened, and screamed when I
ought not ; and it is my fault that you are not now by
our fire, getting your supper with us, in our tent. Tam
sure, I wish you ~vere there.”

“ Very fine,” said Roger. “He knows I thrashed
him ; and he does not want any more of it. But I'll
thrash him as long as I live ; I tell you that.”

“Oliver does not know about my coiming—he is
asleep in the tent,” protested Mildred. “Nobody
knows of my coming. I don’t believe Oliver would
have let me come, if he had known it. Only go and
look yourself ; and you will see how he lies asleep on
the grass.) We know you can beat him in fighting,
because you are so much bigger; and that is why I
cannot bear that he should fight. It was all about me
this time ; and I know he will never give up; and I
don’t know how long it will be before he is big enough
to thrash you.”

“ Long enough, I can tell you: so get away, and let
me go to sleep; or I'll thrash you too.”

“ How can you talk so, Roger, and keep your anger
go, when we are all so unhappy? I did not wonder
much before, when Ailwin had to help Oliver... .
That was enough to make you or anybody be angry.
But now, when I come to tell you how sorry I am,
and that I know, if I ask Oliver, that he will be glad
to forget everything, and that you should come to
supper with us, instead of lying here in the dark, with
nothing to eat, I do think you ought to forgive and
forget ; to forgive me, and forget all about thrashing
Oliver.”

Roger made no answer.

“ Good-bye, Roger,” said Mildred. “I am sorry
NEW QUARTERS, 139

that you choose to lie here, hungry and cold, instead
of... .”

“What business have you. in my island?” interrupted
Roger, fiercely. ‘“ How dared you settle upon my
ground, to mock me with your fire and your supper?
I'll have my fire and my supper too.”

“T hope you will, if you will not come to ours. We
were obliged to settle here—the house is all cracking,
and falling to pieces. We were very sorry to come,— .
we were all so tired ;—but we dared not stay in the
house.”

Roger uttered an exclamation which showed that
a new light had broken upon him, as to the causes of
their removal.

“ Poor Geordie is so ill, we were most sorry to have
to move him. The time will come, Roger, though
you don’t think so now, when you will be vexed that
while we cannot tell whether father and mother are
alive or dead, and whether George will live or die, you
put the pain of quarrels upon us too.”

“Well, get you gone now!” said Roger, not imme-
diately discovering that she was some paces on her way
home again before he said that much.

Mildred heard Ailwin calling her to supper, as she
drew near the tent. She did not say where she had
been ; but perhaps she was more on the watch, in
consequence of what had passed. She soon saw that
Roger was sauntering. under the trees; and indeed
what she had said, and what he now saw together, had
altered Roger’s mind. He was hungry, and once
more tired of being alone and sulky. He was thinking
how comfortable the fire and the steaming kettle
looked, and considering how he should make his ap-
740 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

proach, when Mildred jumped up, and came running
to him.

“They don’t know that I came to find you,” said
she. “Oliver will think it so kind of you to come and
be friends! He will be so pleased! And there is
plenty of supper for everybody.”

She ventured to put her hand in his, and lead him
forwards into the light. She told Oliver that Roger
was willing to forgive and forget ; and Oliver said that
he was quite willing too. Oliver set a stool for Roger,
and offered him his own basin of broth. Ailwin held
her tongue ;—which was the most that could be ex-
pected of her.

Roger did not quite know what to say and do, when
he had finished his supper, and fed Spy. He swung
his legs, as he sat upon his stool, stared into the fire,
and began to whistle. Roger’s shrillest whistle, as it
had been sometimes heard in the carr, was anything
but agreeable: but his low whistle, when he was not
thinking about it, was soft and sweet. A gentle
chuckle was soon heard from George, as he lay across
Mildred’s knees.

“He likes it! He likes such a whistle as that!”
exclaimed Mildred. Her eyes said to Roger, “Do
goon!”

Roger went on whistling, better and better,—more
and more softly, he drawing nearer, till he quite bent
over the poor sick child, who after many signs of
pleasure, dropped off into a sleep,—a quiet, sound sleep.

“Thank you!” said Oliver, heartily. “Thank you,
Roger !”

“You will do it again to-morrow, will not you, if
he should be fretful?” said Mildred.
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 141

Roger nodded. Then he made the cloth drapery hang
better over the pillows on which the child was laid,—so
as to keep off the dew completely, he said. Then he
nodded again, when Oliver gave him a blanket: and
once more he nodded good night, before he rolled him-
self up in it under a neighbouring tree.

CHAPTER IX,
ONE PRISONER RELEASED.

{In the morning, it appeared that it had been right to
remove to the Red-hill the night before. Only some
fragments of the roof of the house remained. Some
beams and a quantity of rubbish had fallen into the
room where the party had lived since the flood came ;
and a heap of this rubbish lay on the very spot where
Mildred would have been sleeping if they had stayed.
All saw and considered this with awe. Roger himself
looked first at the little girl, and then at that part of
the ruin, as if imagining what it would have been for
her to be lying there, and wondering to see her standing
here, alive and unhurt.

“Look how that wall stands out; said Oliver,
“The faster the house falls, the more haste we must
make to save what we can.”

“Oh! cannot you stay quietly to-day?” asked
Mildred. “TI think we have got all we really want ;
and this bustle and hurry and Lard work every day are
go tiresome! Cannot we keep still and rest to-day ?”

“To-morrow, dear,” replied her brother. “To-
morrow is Sunday ! and we will try torest. But there
142 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

is no knowing how long we may have to live in this
place, in the middle of the waters ; and it is my duty
to save everything I can that can make George and
you and the rest of us comfortable when the colder
weather comes on.”

“T wonder what all the world is about, that nobody
comes to see after us,” said Mildred, sighing.

“Out of sight, out of mind, Mildred,” said Ailwin.
“ That is the way, all the world over.”

“Tam sure it is not,” said Oliver. “Mildred and I
say as little as we can about father and mother; but
don’t you imagine such a thing as that they are out of
our minds. I know Mildred never shuts her eyes, but
she sees the mill floating away, as it did that evening,
and father standing ... .”

He could not go on about that. Presently he
said, “ When the flood came, I suppose, there were
no boats to be had. It would take the first day to
bring them from a distance, and get them afloat.
Then the people would look round (as they cought to
do) to see where they could do most good. Nobody
who looked through a glass this way, since the day
before yesterday, and saw those rafters sticking up in
the air,—the house in ruins as it is,—would suppose
that any one could be left alive here. From a distance,
they can hardly fancy that even any little mouse could
help being either drowned or starved. This will be
about the last spot in the Levels that any boat will
come to.—You see, Mildred, our Red-hill, though it is
everything to us, is but a speck compared with the
grounds that have stood above water since the waters
began to sink. We had better not think of anything
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 143

but living on as we can, unless it should please God
that we should die.”

Roger did not want to hear anything more of this
kind ; so he went to where George was lying, and
began to whistle softly to him. The child was so
altered that his own mother would hardly have known
him : but he smiled when he heard the whistle ; and
the smile was his own. He put up his hand, and
patted Roger’s face, and even pulled his hair with a
good stout pull. Roger had been used tv nurse his dog,
though not little children. He now took George into
his arms, and laid him comfortably across his knees,
while he whistled till the little fellow looked full in his
face, and puckered up his poor white lips, as if he
would whistle too. This made Roger laugh aloud ;«
and then George laughed. Ailwin heard them, and
peeped into the corner of the tent where they were.
She flew to Oliver, to tell him that Roger was at his
tricks worse than ever,—he was bewitching the baby.
She was angry at Oliver for telling his sister, when he
had looked in too, that they might have been very
glad any of them, to bewitch poor baby in this manner,
when he was crying so sadly all yesterday. Mildred,
for her part, ran to thank Roger, and say how glad she
should be to be able to whistle as he could.

“ How should you?” said Roger,—“ you who never
had a dog, or caught any sort of a bird in your life, I
dare say.”

“No, I never could. One day, long ago, when
mother was very busy, and I was tired of playing, she
gave me some salt into my hand, and told me I might
put it upon the birds’ tails in the garden, and so catch
144 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

them : but I did not get one. At last, half the salt
was spilt, and the other half was melted in my hand ;
and then dinner was ready. I suppose that was a joke
of mother’s.”

“She wanted you out of the way ; and what a fool
you must have been not to find that out! Why, the
birds could not have been sillier, if they had let you
put the salt upon their tails.”

“Tt was along while ago,” pleaded Mildred.

“Here, take him,” said Roger, popping George into
her arms. “Show him how to catch birds, if you like.
I can’t spend my time any longer here.”

“ How he cries after you!” exclaimed Mildred.

It was the first time Roger had ever known anybody

“to be sorry for his going away. The child was cer-
tainly crying after him. He half turned back, but
turned again, saying—

“Can't you tell him I will come again by-and-by ?
I must be off now.”

The truth was, Roger had never forgotten the chest,
—the oaken chest which looked so tempting when he
saw it floating down, and Oliver would not stop to
catch it,—the stout chest which he knew to be now
safe and sound somewhere about the house, unless
harm had happened to it during the night. Oliver
agreed that it was of importance to bring this chest on
shore : and the boys lost no time in doing it. Mildred
came out with George to watch their proceedings, and
found that Oliver had already made one trip, and
brought over some articles of use and value. He
came up to his sister, with something which he held*
carefully covered up in both hands, He said gravely—
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 145

“Here, dear, put this in some safe place,—where no
one will know of it but you and me.”

“A watch! mother’s watch !”

“T found it, with several things in her cupboard,
thrown down by the wall breaking.”

“Tt does not seem to be hurt,” observed Mildred.
“‘ And how often you have wislied for a watch !”

“T think I shall never wish for anything again,”
said Oliver. Mildred saw his face as he turned away,
and began to consider where she could put the watch,
so that it might be safe, and that Roger might not see
it, nor Oliver be reminded of it.

Ailwin and Roger were meantime disputing about
which should have the raft first,—Roger wanting to
secure the chest, and Ailwin insisting that it was
high time the cow was milked. Oliver said he was
master here in his father’s absence, and he would have
no quarrels. -All three should go on the raft. Roger
should be landed at the staircase, where he could be
collecting what be wanted to bring over, while Oliver
proceeded to set Ailwin ashore beside the cow. By
working to the number of three, in harmony, far more
would be gained than by using up strength in fighting
and disputing. He did not care how many times he
crossed the water this day, if those whom he rowed
would but keep the peace. He would willingly be
their servant in rowing, though he chose to be their
master in deciding.

Ailwin stared at Oliver. It had struck her, and
Mildred too, that Oliver seemed to have grown many
years older since the flood came. He was no taller,
and no stronger ;—indeed he seemed to-day to be

10
146 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

growing weaker with fatigue; but he was not the
timid boy he had always appeared before. He spoke
like a man ; and there was the spirit of a man in his
eyes. It was not a singular instance. There have
been other cases in which a timid boy has been made a
man of, on a sudden, by having to protect, from danger
or in sorrow, some weaker than himself. Roger felt
something of the truth; and this had as much to do
with making him quiet and tractable to-day as his
interest about George, or his liking to live in a tent
with companions, rather than in the open air and alone.

Ailwin was but a short time gone. She came up
the bank to Mildred, swinging her empty milk-pail,
and sobbing, as if from the bottom of her heart. Mil-
dred did not think she had ever seen Ailwin cry so
before ; and she could imagine nothing now but that
Oliver was lost. She turned so giddy in a moment
that she could not see Ailwin, and so sick that she
could not speak to her.

“So you have heard, Mildred,—you have heard, I
see by your being so white. Oliver says she has been
dead ever so many hours. I say, if we had gone the
first thing, instead of staring and poking about yon
tumble-down house, we might have saved her. I
shall never milk her again,—not a drop!—nor any
other either, so far as I see; for there is no saying
that we shall ever get away. Here I have not a drop
of milk to give you, my dear, though you are as white
as the wall.”

“Never mind,” gasped Mildred, “if it is only the
cow. I thought it had been Oliver.”

“Oliver! Bless your heart! there he is as busy
about the house and things, as if nothing had hap-
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 147

pened ; and just as provoking as you for caring nothing
about the poor cow. There she lies, poor soul! dead
and cold, half in the water, and half out. She was
worth you two put together, for some things,—I can
tell you that.”

“Jndeed I am very sorry,” said Mildred ; and as
she saw George pulling about the empty can, she
melted into tears, which would come faster and faster
till Oliver again stood by her side. She tried to tell
him what she had been afraid of, and how she thought
she should not have cried but for that ;—or, at least,
not so much: but she really could not explain what
she felt, her sobs came so thick.

“T do not know exactly what you mean, dear,” said
Oliver ; “but I understand that you must be crying
about the cow. I am very sorry,—very. I had rather
have lost anything we have left than the cow, now
George is so ill.”"—Here he bit his lip, and looked
away from George, lest he should cry like his sister.
He went on, however, talking rather quickly at first,
but becoming more composed as he proceeded. He
said, “I have been thinking that it will never do
for us who may be near losing everything we have,
and our lives, after all, to grieve over each separate
loss as it happens. When you said your prayers the
first night of the flood...”

“How long ago that does seem!” exclaimed Mik
dred. :

“Tt does, indeed!” replied Oliver, glad to hear her
say something distinctly. “When we said our prayers
that night, and whenever we have said them since,
we begged that we might be able to bear dying in thi,
flood,—to bear whatever it pleased God to do. Now

Ne
148 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

our right way is to make up our minds at once te

everything, and just in the way it pleases God. Let

us try to bear it cheerfully, whether we lose the cow or

anything else tirst ; or whether we all die together.

That is the way, Mildred !—And if you and I should
“.sot die together, that must be the way too.”

*T hope we shall though.”

“JT think it is very likely; and that before long,
And then how useless it will have been to be unhappy
about anything we can lose here! People who may
be so near to death need not be anxious about this and
that, like those who seem to have long to live. So
come, dear, and see this chest; and help us to settle
what should be done with it.”

There was nothing about the outside of the chest to
show whose it might be. Everybody agreed that it -
ought to be opened immediately, lest all that it con-
tained should be spoiled by the wet. But how to
open it was the question ; for it had a very stout lock,
and strong hinges. After many attempts, it was
found that nothing short of proper tools would answer
the purpose ; and Oliver went to see if his could be
reached. Through piles of rubbish, and a puddle of
slimy water, he got to the spot where he had left
them,—hidden behind straw, that the Redfurns might
not discover and spoil them. The straw was washed
away, aud his beautiful lump of alabaster reduced to
slime ; but his tools were there,—in no very bright
condition, but safe. He hastened away from the spot ;
for thoughts crowded upon his mind of the day when
he had last used these tools, and the way of life in
which he and Mildred had been so happy, and which
seemed now to he over for ever. He thought of the
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 149

beautiful stone carvings over the doorway, and of what
Pastor Dendel had said to him about them. They had
fallen ; and who knew what had become of kind
Pastor Dendel? The garden, with all its fresh green
and gay blossoms was now a muddy stream; rank
smells and thick mists now came up from what had
been meadows and corn-fields ; and his father, whose
manly voice had been daily heard singing from the
mill, where was he? It would not do to stay think-
ing of these things ; so Oliver hastened back with his
tools, and with the heavy kitchen hammer, which he
also found.

None of these would open the chest. The party ma-
naged it at last by heating a large nail, which they
drew out from a shattered door-post, and burning
holes in the wood of the chest, close by the nails which
fastened the hinges, so as to loosen them, and make
them drop out. The lid being raised, a great variety of
articles was found within, so nicely packed that the
wet had penetrated but a very little way. Mildred had
looked on thoughtfully ; and she saw that Oliver
paused when the contents lay open to view. She looked
in her brother’s face, and said—

“T wonder who this chest belonged to ?”

“T was just thinking so,” observed Oliver.

“ Never mind that,” said Ailwin. “We may know,
some day or other, or we may not. Meantime, it is
ours. Come, make haste, and see what there is to
wrap up poor baby in, on cold nights.”

“We will look for something of that sort,—I am
sure we might use such a thing as that,” said Oliver:
“put... .”

“ But,” said Mildred, “1 don’t think these other
150 TRE SETTLERS AT HOME.

things are ours, any more than they ever were. No-
body ever gave them tous. They have belonged to
somebody else ;—to somebody that may be wondering
at this moment where they are.” ,

“Nonsense, Mildred!” exclaimed Ailwin. “Who
gave you the harness that braces the raft, or the meal
you have been living on these two days, I wonder:
and how do you know but somebody is hungry, and
longing for it, at this minute ?”

“T wish they had it, then,” replied Mildred. “ But,
Oliver, were we wroug to use the meal? I never
thought of that.”

“Nor I: but I think we were right enough there.
The meal would all have been spoiled presently ; and
meal (and the harness too) is a sort of thing that we
can pay for, or make up for in some way, if ever we
can meet with the people who lost that chest.”

“ And George, and all of us, might have starved
without it.”

“Yes: we must take what we want to eat, when
it comes in our way, and there is nobody to ask leave
of: and, if ever we get out of this place, we can inquire
who lost a meal-chest or set of harness, and offer to pay
for what we took. But I do think it is different with
these things.”

“So do I,” said Mildred. “Those table-cloths, and
that embroidered cap,—somebody has taken pains to
make them, and might not like to sell them. And
look! Look at Roger! He has pulled out a great
heavy bag of money.”

“Now, Roger, put that bag where you found it,”
said Oliver. “Itis none of yours,”
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 15t

“Wow do I know that I shall find it again, the
next time I look?” replied Roger, walking off with
the bag. ;

Mildred was afraid of Oliver’s following him, and of
another quarrel happening. She put her arm within
her brother’s, and he could easily guess why.

“ Don’t be afcaid, dear,” he said. “If Roger chooses
to do a dishonest thing, it is his own affair. We have
warned him; and that is all we have to do with it.
We must be honest ourselves,—that is all.”

“Then I think we had better not look any further
into the chest,” said Mildred ;—“ only just to find
something warm to wrap Geordie in. The clothes
look so nice—we might fancy we wanted things that
we can very well do without.”

“T am not much afraid of that,” replied her brother :
“ and it would be a pity the things should spoil with the
damp. They would be dry in an hour in this warm
sun; and we could pack them away again before
night.”

“Roger will never let you do that,” declared Ailwin.
“Not a rag will he leave to anybody that you don’t
stow away while he is out of sight. Never did I see
such perverse children as you, and so thankless for
God’s gifts. I should be ashamed to be no more
grateful than you for what He puts into your very
hands.”

Mildred looked at her brother now with a different
face. She was perplexed and alarmed; but she saw
that Oliver was not.

“Roger cannot carry off anything,” he replied.
“He may bury and hide what he pleases ; but they
162 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

will all be somewhere about the Red-hill; and we
can tell anybody who comes to fetch us off whatever
we know about the goods.”

“Nobody will ever come and fetch us off,” said
Ailwin, beginning to cry. “The people ata distance
don’t care a straw what becomes of us; and you
children here at hand are so perverse and troublesome,
I don’t know how to bear my life between you.”

“Tf nobody comes to save us,” said Oliver, calmly,
“T do not see what good this money and these fine
clothes will do to Roger and you.”

“Rogerand me! Pray what do you mean by that ?”

“T mean that you and he are for taking these things
that do not belong to us; and Mildred and I are
against it. Only tell me this one thing, Ailwin. Do’
you believe that your cloak and stockings were sent
in Nan Redfurn’s way, that she might take them ?
end do you think it would have been perverse in her
not to run away with them ?”

“Now, Oliver, what nonsense you talk! As if I
wanted a rag of these things for my own wear! Asif I
would touch a penny that was not honestly got !”

“So I always thought before ; and so I shall think
now, if you will help Mildred to dry whatever is
damp, and then pack all away safely—all but such
things as may do poor Geordie good.”

Roger was not long in finding a hole in a tree
where he could hide his bag of money. He cut a
small cross in the bark by which he might know the
tree again, and hastened back, to see what else he
could secure. He found plenty of pretty things hang-
ing on the bushes, and did not wait for their being
quite dry to dress himself as he had never heen dressed
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 153°

before. With the embroidered cap above-mentioned
on his head, a scarlet waistcoat, worked with silver
thread, hanging loose about ‘his body, and a light blue
coat, whose skirts reached his heels, he looked so little
like the dirty ragged Roger, that Geordie shrank back
from him, at first sight, and did not smile till he heard
the soft whistle again. After that, he seemed more
pleased with the finery than all the rest of the party
together. Ailwin glanced scornfully upon it, as if she
had disapproved from the beginning its being touched ;
and Oliver and Mildred looked grave.

So very much pleased was Geordie with the gay
waistcoat, that Roger took him into his arms, that he
might be able to stroke it, and play with the silver
flowers. It was little fatigue, now, except to the
spirits, to nurse poor George. He was shrunk to
skin and bone, and so light as to startle those who
had been accustomed to lift him. It was grievous,
however, to look at the ghastly stretched features, the
flabby tremulous little arms, and the suffering expres-
sion of countenance. To hear his feeble cry was
worse still, Oliver was really glad to take Mildred
away from seeing and hearing him, as long as the
child would be quiet with Roger: so he asked her to
filter more water through the gravel. He begged her
to get ready a great deal—enough for them all to drink,
and to bathe George in; for the water about them
was becoming of a worse quality every day. It was
unsafe even to live near; and much more to drink.
So he scraped up a quantity of clean dry gravel from
the ledges of the precipice where the first flood had
thrown it, and helped Mildred to press this gravel
down in the worn old basket. This basket they set
154 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

across the tub, which they first thoroughly cleaned.
Mildred poured water upon the gravel by degrees ;
and it was astonishing how much purer and better it
came out of the tub than it went into the basket.
When the tub was full, Auwin heated some of the
water presently over her large fire, and made a warm
bath for the child.

Roger was unwilling to give him up when the bath
was ready, so new and so pleasant did he find it to be
liked and loved by anybody—to have power over any
one, so much more easy and delightful to exercise
than that of force. But, not only was the bath ready,
and must not be left to cool, but Oliver beckoned him
away on some very particular business.

This business was indeed pressing. All the party
had complained that the bad smells about the Red-
hill became really oppressive. They did not know
how great was the danger of their all falling ill
of fever, in consequence ; but every one of them felt
languid and uncomfortable. Oliver made the circuit
of the hill, to discover whether there was any cause
for this evil that could be removed. He was surprised
to find the number of dead animals that were lying
about in holes and corners,’as well as the heap of
Roger’s game, now actually putrefying in the sun.
here was also a dead horse thrown up, on the side
‘where the quarry was; and about this horse were
such swarms of flies as Oliver had never seen. It was
to consult about pushing back this horse into the
stream, and clearing away all other dead things that
they could find, that Oliver now called Roger.

Roger was struck with what he observed. He saw
no difficulty in clearing away the game he ought never
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 155

to have left lying in a heap in the sun. LHe believed,
too, that with stout poles he and Oliver could shove
the horse into the water ; and, with a line tied to its
head, tow it out of the still water into the current
which yet ran from the quarry. But what troubled
him more was, that there was evidently a mortality
among the animals on the hill. They were dying -r
all directions ; some for want of proper food, and from
being put out of their usual habits : others from bemg
preyed upon by their stronger neighbours. Nothing
seemed to thrive but the ravenous birds which came
in clusters, winging their way over the waters, and
making a great rustling of their pinions as they
descended to perch upon some dead animal, pulling it
to pieces before the very eyes of the boys, as they
stood consulting what to do. It was a horrid sight:
and it brought the horrid thought. that soon probably
there would be no game left for food for the party ;
and that what there was meantime might be unwhole-
some. Oliver had never imagined that the bold boy,
Roger Redfurn, could look so alarmed as he did at
this moment.

“Never mind, now, Roger,” said he, “what is likely
to become of you and me. Wait, and find that out
by-and-bye. What I am afraid of is seeing Mildred
look at all as George does now. Come, let us set to
work! Don’t stand looking up in the sky, in that
way. Help me—do. Cannot Spy help? Call him;
will you?”

“We can’t get away !” exclaimed Roger, as if now,
for the first time, awakened to his situation. “Those
vile birds—they can go where they like—nasty crea-
tures—and we cannot stir from where we are !”

1?
156 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“T wish we had our singing birds back again, instead
of these creatures,” said Oliver. “Our shy, pretty,
innocent little birds, that used to be so pleased to
pick up twigs and straws to build their nests with,
and be satisfied with the worms and slugs and flies
that they cleared away from the garden. I wish we
had them, instead of these ugly, saucy, dirty birds.
But our birds are happier somewhere else, I dare
say; in some dry, pleasant place among those hills,
all sweet with flowers, and cool with clear running
water.”

“They can get there, and we can’t. We cau't get
out of this hot steaming place: and those hills look
further off every day. I wish my uncle had been
dead before he brought us down off the moors last
time. I wish he had, I know. If I was on the moor
now, after the plovers ... .”

“ Come, come ; forget all that now, and set to work,”
interrupted Oliver. “If you wont call Spy to help, I
will see whether he will mind me.”

Spy came, with some hesitation, in answer to a
whistle which was like his master’s, but not exactly
the same. His master soon set him to work, and
began to work himself, in a sort of desperation. It
was astonishing what a clearance was made in a short
time. But it did not do all the good that was ex-
pected. There was so much vegetable decay in the
region round, that the floating dead animals off to a
distance caused only a partial relief.

While the boys were hard at work at their dis-
agreeable task, Mildred was enjoying seeing George
in his warm bath. Ailwin held him there, while
Mildred continued her useful businesy of filtering
CGNE PRISONER RELEASED. 157

water, talking to the child all the while. The poor
little fellow soon left off crying, and moved his weak
limbs about in the tepid water, trying to splash
Ailwin, as he had been wont to splash his mother
in play, every morning when she washed and dressed
him.

“T am sure it does him a great deal of good,” ex-
claimed Mildred. “I will filter quantities of water ;
and he shall have a bath as often as ever it is good for
him. Suppose it should make him well !”

Ailwin shook her head. She saw how impossible it
would be even to keep a healthy child well in the ab-
sence of proper food, in an unwholesome atmosphere, and
without sufficient shelter from the changes of weather
which might come at any hour, and must come soon.
How unlikely it was that a sick baby should recover
under such circumstances, she was well aware. Yet
she little thought how near the end was.

After his bath, Geordie lay, nicely covered up, on a
mattress under the tent. One or other of his nurses
visited him every few minutes ; and both were satis-
fied that he was comfortably asleep. The boys came
for some dinner, at last; and while Oliver went to
wash his hands in clean water, Roger stooped over the
child to kiss him. Before doing so, however, he started
back, and asked Ailwin why the baby’s eyes looked so
strangely. They were half closed, and seemed like
neither sleep nor waking. Ailwin sat down on the
mattress, and took him into her arms, while Mildred
ran to call Oliver. The poor child stretched himself
stiff across Ailwin’s knees, and then breathed no
more.

When Oliver and Mildred came running back,
158 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

Ailwin was putting her cheek near the child’s mouth,
to feel if there was indeed no breath. She shook her
head, and her eyes ran over with, tears. Oliver kneeled
down, and put his hand to the heart—it did not beat.
He lifted the wasted arm—it fell, as if it had never
had life in it. There lay the little body, still unmoved,
with the face composed,—the eyes dim and half-closed,
the ear hearing nothing, the tongue silent, while all
were calling on little George to say something he had
been fond of saying, to hearken to something he had
loved to hear, and—all in vain.

“ Whistle to him, Roger!” exclaimed Mildred,
through her trembling. “Try if he cannot hear that.
Whistle to him softly.”

Roger tried ; but no notice was taken of the forced,
irregular whistle which was the best he could give at
the moment.

“Listen, dear! Hark, George! Only hear!” ex-
claimed Mildred and Ailwin.

“© hush! all of you!” exclaimed Oliver. “Be
quiet, Mildred, dear! Our little brother is dead.”

Roger threw himself on the grass, and hid his face
on his arms. He moaned and rocked himself about
ao that, even in the first moments of their grief, the
brother and sister looked at each other with awe.

“Come away with me, dear,” whispered Oliver to
his sister. Ailwin, give George tome. Let me have
him in my arms.

“Bless you, my dears ; it is not George any longer.
It is a poor little dead body. You must not call it
George.”

“Give him to me,” said Oliver. He took the body
from Ailwin’s arms, carrying it as gently as if anything
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 159

could have hurt ti now; and he and Mildred walked
away towards the spot where the bee-shed had stood.
Ailwin gazed after them, dashing away the tears with
the back of her hand, when they gathered so that she
could not see.

Oliver and Mildred walked on till they could des-
cend the bank a little, and sit, just above the waters,
where they knew they were out of sight of everybody.
This bank presented a strange appearance, such as the
children had been wondering at for some days, till
Ailwin remembered that she had often heard say that
there was once a thick forest growing where the
Levels were now spread, and that the old trees were,
every one, somehow underground. It now appeared
that this was true. As the earth was washed away in
the channel, and cut down along the bank, large
trunks of trees were seen lying along, black as coal.
Some others started out of the bank ; and the roots of
a few spread like network, holding the soil together,
and keeping the bank firm in that part. Upon one of
the trunks, that jutted out, Oliver took his seat ; and
Mildred placed herself beside him.

“ Let him lie on my knee now,” said she.

“ Presently,” said Oliver. ‘ How easy and quiet
he looks !”

“ And how quietly he died!” observed Mildred.
“T did not think it had been such an easy thing to
die,—or half so easy for us to bear to see.”

“The hard part is to come, dear. We are glad now
to see him out of his pain—so comfortable as he looks
at this moment. The hard part will be ‘not to hear
his little voice any more—never .. . . But we must
not think of that now. I hope, Mildred, that you
160 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

are not sorry that George is dead. Iam not, when
I think that he may be with father and mother
already.”

“ Already ?”

“Yes—if they are dead. Perhaps they have been
pitying poor baby all the time he has been ill, crying
and moaning so sadly ; and now he may be with them,
- quite happy, and full of joy to meet them again.”

“Then they may be seeing us now.”

“Yes ; they will not forget us, even the first moment
that George’s little spirit is with them. Do not let
them see us sad, Mildred. Let them see that we are
glad that they should have George, when we could do
nothing for him.”

“But we shall miss him so when... Oliver! he
must be buried !”

“Yes. When that is done, we shall miss him sadly.
We must expect that. But we must bear it.”

“Tf we die here,” said Mildred, “it will be easy to
do without him for such a little while. But if we
ever get away, if we grow up to be as old as father
and mother, what shall we do, all those years, without
once hearing Geordie laugh, or having him to wake us
in the morning? What long things people’s lives are!
It will seem as if ours would never be done, if we
have to wait all that time to see Geordie again.”

“T wish we were dead!” sighed Oliver.

“Tam sure, sodol. And dying is so very easy !”

“The pastor always said there was nothing to be
afraid of,” said Oliver—*I mean, for innocent people.
And Geordie was so innocent, he was fit to go directly
to God.”

“Tf we die here,” said Mildred, “Roger must too.
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 161

What was the matter with him just now, do you think?
Was he thinking about that ?”

“ He was very miserable about something. Ob, Mil-
dred, do look! Did you ever see Geordie look sweeter ?
Yes, you may have him now.”

And Oliver quietly laid the child in Mildred’s arms.

“ Yet,” said he, sighing, “ we must bury him.”

“Oh, when?” asked Mildred.

“ Better do it while his face looks as it does now.
To-morrow is Sunday. We will do no work to-morrow
and bury Geordie.”

“Where? How?

“We will choose the prettiest place we can find,
and the quietest.”

“TI wish the pastor was here,” said Mildred. “I
never saw a funeral, except passing one in the road
sometimes.”

“We need not be afraid of doing wrong about the
funeral, dear. We must make some kind of little
coffin ; and Roger will help me to dig a grave. And
if we have no pastor to say prayers, you and I know
that in our hearts we shall be thanking God for
taking our little brother, to be safe and happy with
him.”

“And then I may plant some flowers upon his
grave, may not I? And that will bring the bees
humming over it. How fond he was of going near
the hives, to hear the bees hum! Where shall his
grave be?”

“ Under one of the trees, one of the shadiest.”

“Oh, dear—here comes Ailwin! I wish she would
let us alone.”

Aulwin was crying tov much to speak. She took.

ll
162 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

the vody from Mildred’s arms with a gentle force,
kssing the little girl as she did so. She covered up
the baby’s face with her apron as she walked away.

The children went among the trees to fix on a spot
for the grave. They found more: than one that they
liked ; but suddenly remembered that the ground was
hard, and that they had no spade, nor any tool with
which they could make a deep hole.

Oliver was greatly disturbed at this,—more than he
chose to show when he saw how troubled his sister also
was. After thinking for some time, to no purpose,—
feeling that he could not bear to commit the body to
the foul flood, and rememberiny with horror how
many animals were scratching up the earth all over the
Red-hill, where the ground was not too hard, and how
many odious birds of prey were now hovering in the
air, at all hours,—after thinking over these things with
a heavy heart, he begged Mildred to go home to
Ajilwin, and to ask Roger to come to him in the wood,
to consult what must be done.

Mildred readily went: but she hardly liked to
speak to Roger when she saw him. He was watching
with a sulky air, what Ailwin was doing, as she bent
' over the mattress, His eyes were red with crying;
but he did not seem the more gentle for that. When
Mildred had given her message, he moved as if he
thought it a great trouble to go; but Mildred then
suspected what was indeed the truth,—that he was un-
happy at the child’s death, and was ashamed of appcar-
ing so, and put on a gruff manner to hide it. Seeing
this, the little girlran after him, as he sauntered away,
put her hand in his, and said,

“Do help Oliver, all you can. I know how he
ONE PRISONER RELEASED. 163

would have tried to help you, if George had been your
little brother.”

“°Tis all the same as if he had been,” muttered
Roger. “Im sure I am just as sorry.”

“Are you, indeed?’ said Mildred, her eyes now
filling with tears.

Roger could not bear to see that; and he hastened
away.

Mildred found a great change when she looked on
the baby’s face again. The eyes were quite closed, and
Ailwin had tied a bandage round his head,—under the
chin, and among the thick hair, which used to curl so
prettily, but which had hung straight and damp since
he had been ill. He was now strangely dressed, and
laid out straight and stiff He did not look like
Geordie ; and now Mildred began to know the dreary
feelings that death brings into families. She longed
for Oliver to come home ; and would have gone to see
what he was about, but that she did not like to leave
the tent and the body while Ailwin was busy else-
where, which was now the case.

When, at length, the boys returned, they reported
that, for many reasons, there could not be a grave
under the trees, as they would have liked. They had
hopes of making one which would save the body from
the flood, and would serve at least till the day (if that
day ever came) when it might be removed to some
churchyard. They had no tools to dig a deep hole
with ; and if there was a hole, it must be deep: but
they found they could excavate w space in the bank,
under the trunk of one of the large buried forest-trees,
They couid line this hole with hewn stones brought
trom the shattered wall of the house, and could close

lila
164 TIE SETTLERS AT HOME.

it in also with a stone,—thus making the space at
once a coffin and a grave, as secure from beast, or
bird of prey, as any vault under any church-wall.
Oliver had found among the ruins one of the beautiful
carved stones, which he had always admired as it sur-
mounted the doorway of their home. With this he
meant to close in the little vault. At some future
time, if no one should wish to disturb the remains,
ivy might be led over the face of the bank, and about
this sculptured stone; and then he thought, even
those who most loved little George could not wish
him a better grave.



CHAPTER X.
GRAVES IN THE LEVELS.

OLIVER so much wished that the next day (Sunday,
and the day of his little brother’s funeral) should be
one of rest and decent quiet, that he worked ex-
tremely hard, as long as the light lasted, and was glad
of all the help the rest of the party could give.

To make an excavation large enough for the body
was no difficult task ;—the earth being soft, and easily
removed from the trunks, roots and branches of buried
trees, which seemed to run all through the interior of
the bank. But the five stones with which the grave
was to be lined, were of considerable thickness ; and
Oliver chose to have them nicely fitted in, that no
living creature should be able to enter this place sacred
to the dead.

How astonished were they all to find that this was
already a place of the dead! While Ailwin was
holding one of the stones against one end of the exca-
GRAVES IN THE LEVELS. 165

vation, and Oliver was striking and fixing it with the
great hammer, Roger was emptying out soil from the
other end. He exclaimed that he had come upon
some large thing made of leather.

“T dare say you have,” said Ailwin. “There are
all manner of things found by those who dig in the
Levels ;—except useful things, I mean. No one ever
knew anything useful come out of these odd places.”

“You are wrong there,” said Roger. “I have got
useful things myself from under the carr, that brought
me more money than any fish and fowl I ever took out
of the ponds on it Uncle and I found some old red
earthenware things... .”

“ Old red earthenware !” exclaimed Ailwin. “As
if old earthenware was better than fish and fowl,
when there is so much new to be had now-a-days !
My uncle is a sailor, always going between this and
Holland ; and he says the quantity of ware they bring
over in a year will hold victuals for all Lincolnshire.
And Dutch ware does not cost above half what it did
in my grandfather’s time: so don’t you be telling
your wonderful tales, Roger. We sha’n’t believe them.”

“Well, then, don’t. But I say again, uncle Stephen
and I took gold for the old red ware we got out of
a deep hole in the carr.”

“Very likely, indeed. I wonder who has gold to
throw away in that manner. However, I don’t say
but there may be such. ‘Fools and their money are
soon parted, some folks say.”

“Who gave you the gold?” asked Oliver.

“You may ask that,” said Roger; “but you may
not believe me when I tell you. You know the Earl
of Arundel comes sometimes into these parts. Well,
—it was he.”

19?
i686 THE SETTLERS AT FOME

“When? Why?

“ He often comes down to see the Trent, having the
care of the forests upon it: and, one time, he stopped
near here, on his way into Scotland, about some
business. They say he has a castle full of wonderful
things somewhere os

“What sort of things? asked Ailwin. “Horn
spoons and pewter drinking-mugs, to his old red
earthenware ?”

“Perhaps,” replied Roger. “But I heard nothing
of them. What I heard of was old bricks, and stone
figures, and all manner of stone jars. Well, a gentle-
man belonging to the Earl of Arundel chanced to
come across us, just after we had found a pitcher or
two down in the moss; and he made us go with him
to the Earl... .”

“You don’t mean that you ever saw a lord to speak
to! exclaimed Ailwin, turning sharp round upon
Roger.

“TJ tell you, I did, and uncle too.”

Ailwin muttered that she did not believe a word of
it; but her altered manner towards Roger, at the
moment, and ever after, showed that she did.

“We asked us all manner of questions about the
Levels,” continued Roger :—“ I mean about the things
that lie in the moss. He did not seem to care about
the settlers and the crops, otherwise than in the way
of business. All that he did about the earthenware
was plainly for his pleasure. He bought all we could
find on that spot ; and he said, if we found any more
curiosities, at any time, we were. ... ButI can’t stand

alking any more.”

And Roger glanced with suspicious eyes from the


GRAVES IN THE LEVELS. 167

piece of leather (as he called it) that he had met with
in the bank to Oliver. He wanted to have the sole
benefit of this new discovery.

“ And what were you to do, if you found anything
more?” asked Ailwin. “One might easily bury some
of the ware my uncle brings, and keep it in the moss
till it is well wetted ; and then some earl might give
one gold for it. Come, Roger, tell me what you were
to do with your findings. You owe it to me to tell
me ; considering that your people have got away my
cloak and warm stockings.”

“Look for them in the moss,—you had better,” said
Roger. ‘ You will find them there or nowhere.”

Not a word more would he say of his own concerns.

Oliver did not want to hear more. On being told
of the Earl of Arundel’s statues and vases, he had, for
a moment, longed to see them, and wondered whether
there were any alabaster cups in the collection ; but
his thoughts were presently with George again. He
remembered that Mildred had been left long enough
alone with the body ; and he dismissed Ailwin, saying
that he himself should soon have done, it was now
growing so dark.

As he worked on silently and thoughtfully, Roger
supposed he was observing nothing ; and therefore
ventured, turning his back on Oliver, to investigate a
little more closely the leathern curiosity he had met
with. He disengaged the earth more and more, drew
something out, and started at what he saw.

“You have found a curiosity,” observed Oliver,
quietly. “That isa mummy.”

“ No—tis a man,” exclaimed Roger, in some agita-
tion, “At least it is something like a man. Is not
168 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

this like an arm, with a hand at the end of it?!—a
little dried, shrunk, ugly arm. "Tis not stiff, neither.
Look! It can’t be Uncle Stephen, sure—or Nan!”

“No, no: it is a mummy—a human body which
has been buried for hundreds and thousands of years.”

Roger had never heard of a mummy; and there
was no great wonder in that, when even Oliver did
not rightly know the meaning of the word. Ail
animal bodies (and not only human bodies) which re-
main dry, by any means, instead of putrefying, are
called mummies.

“What do you mean by hundreds and thousands of
years ?” said Roger. “ Look here, how the arm bends,
and the wrist ! I believe I could make its fingers close
on mine,” he continued, stepping back—evidently afraid
of the remains which lay before him. .“If I was sure
now, that it was not Stephen or Nan. ... But the peat
water does wonders, they say, with whatever lies in it.”

“So it does. It preserves bodies, as I told you. I
will show you in a minute that it is nobody you have
ever known.”

And Oliver took from Roger’s hand the slip of wood
with which he had been working, and began to clear
out more soil about the figure.

“ Don’t, don’t now !” exclaimed Roger. “ Don’t un-
cover the face! If you do, I will go away.”

“Go, then,” replied Oliver. It appeared as if the
bold boy and the timid one had changed characters.
The reason was that Roger had some very disagreeable
thoughts connected with Stephen and Nan Redfurn.
He never forgot, when their images were before him,
that they had died in the midst of angry and con-
temptuous feelings between them and him. Oliver,
ee

GRAVES IN THE LEVELS. 16

on the other hand, was religious. Though, in easy
times, more afraid than he ought to have been of dis-
honest and violent persons, he had yet enough trust in
God to support his spirits and his hope in trial, as we
have seen: and about death and the grave, and the
other world, where he believed the dead went to meet
their Maker and Father, he had no fear atall. Nothing
that Roger now said, therefore, made him desist, till
he had uncovered half the dried body.

“Took here!” said he—for Roger had not gone
away as he had threatened—“ come closer and look, or
you will see nothing in the dusk. Did either Stephen
or Nan wear their hair this way? And is this dress
anything like Ailwin’s cloak? Look at the long black
hair hanging all round the little flat brown face. And
the dress: it is the skin of some beast, with the hair
left on—a rough-edged skin, fastened with a bit of
something like coal on the left shoulder. I dare say it
was once a wooden skewer. I wonder how long ago
this body was alive. I wonder what sort of a country
this was to live in, at that day.”

Roger’s fear having now departed, his more habitual
feelings again prevailed.

“JT say,” said he, returning to the spot, and wrench-
ing the tool from Oliver’s hand ; “I say—don’t you
meddle any more. The curiosity is mine, you know.
I found it, and it’s mine.”

“What will you do with it?” asked Oliver, who saw
that, even now, Roger rather shrank from touching
the limbs, and turned away from the open eyes of the
body.

“Tt will make a show. If I don’t happen to see
the earl, so as to get gold for it, I'll make people give
i70 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

me a penny a piece to see it; and that will be as good
as gold presently.”

“JT wish you would bury it,” earnestly exclaimed
Oliver, as the thought occurred to him that the time
might come, though perhaps hundreds of years hence,
when dear little George’s body might be found in like
manner. He could not endure the idea of that body
being ever made a show of.

Of course, Roger would not hear of giving up his
treasure ; and Oliver was walking away, when Roger
called after him—

“Don’t go yet, Oliver. Wait a minute, and I will
come with you.”

Oliver proceeded, however, thinking that Roger
would have to acquire some courage yet before he could
carry about his mummy for a show.

Oliver was only going for Mildred—to let her see,
before it was quite dark, what had been done, and
what found. When they returned, Roger was standing
at some distance from the bank, apparently watching
his mummy as it lay in the cleft that he had cleared.
He started when he heard Mildred’s gentle voice ex-
claiming at its being so small and so dark-coloured.
She next wondered how old it was.

After the boys had examined the ground again, and
put together all they had heard about the ancient con-
dition of the Levels, they agreed that this person must
have been buried, or have died alone in the woods, be-
fore the district became a marsh. Pastor Dendel had
told Oliver about the thick forest that covered these
lands when the Romans invaded Britain; and how the
inhabitants fied to the woods, and so hid themselves
there that the Roman soldiers had to cut down the
GRAVES IN THE LEVELS. 171

woods to get at them; and how the trees, falling
across the ogurses of the streams, dammed them up, so
that the surrounding soil was turned into a swamp ;
and how mosses and water-plants grew over the fallen
trees, and became matted together, so that more vege-
tation grew on the top of that, till the ancient forest
was, at length, quite buried in the carr. Oliver now
reminded his sister of all this: and they looked with
a kind of veneration on the form which they supposed
was probably that of an ancient Briton, who, flying
from the invaders, into the recesses of the forest, had
perished there alone. There was no appearance of his
having been buried. No earthen vessels, or other re-
mains, such as were usually found in the graves of the
ancients, appeared to be contained in the bank. If he
had died lying along the ground, his body would have
decayed like other bodies, or been devoured by wild
beasts. Perhaps he was drowned in one of the ponds or
streams of the forest, and the body, being immediately
washed over with sand or mud, was thus preserved.

“ What is the use of guessing and guessing?” ex-
claimed Roger. “Tf people should dig up George’s
bones, out of this bank, a thousand years hence, and
find them lying in a sort of oven, as they would call
it, with a fine carved stone for one of the six sides, do
you think they could ever guess how all these things
came to be here ?”

“This way of burying is an accident, such as no one
would think of guessing,” said Oliver, sighing. “And
this dried body may be here, to be sure, by some other
accident that we know nothing about. I really wish,
Roger, you would cover up the corpse again ; at least,
till we know whether we shall all die together here.”
172 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

This was what Roger could never bear to hear of.
He always ran away from it: and so he did now.
Dark as it was growing, he passed over to the house,
and mounted the staircase (which stood as firm as
ever, and louked something like a self-supported ladder).
While he was vainly looking abroad for boats, which
the shadows of the evening would have.prevented his
seeing if they had been there by hundreds, the brother
and sister speculated on one thing more, in connexion
with the spectacle which had powerfully excited their
imaginations. Mildred whispered to Oliver—

“Tf this old man and George lie together here, I
wonder whether their spirits will know it, and come
together in heaven.”

They talked for some time about the difference
there must be between the thoughts of an ancient
Briton, skin-clothed, a hunter of the wolf, and living
on the acorns and wild animals of the forest, and the
mind of a little child, reared in the Levels, and
nourished and amused between the farm-yard and the
garden. Yet they agreed that there must have been
some things in which two so different thought and felt
alike. The sky was over the heads of both, and the
air around them, and the grass spread under their
feet :—both, too, had, no doubt, had relations, by whom
they had been beloved: and there is no saying how
many things may become known alike to all, on enter-
ing upon the life after death. Oliver and Mildred re-
solved that if ever they should see Pastor Dendel again,
they would ask him what he thought of all this. They
agreed that they would offer to help Roger to seek for
other curiosities, te make a show of; and would give
him, for his own, all they could find, if he would but
GRAVES IN THE LEVELS. 173

consent to bury this body again, decently, and beside
little George.

The supper was eatable to-night; and so was the
breakfast on the Sunday morning; and yet Roger
scarcely touched anything. Oliver heard him tossing
and muttering during the night, and was sure that he
was ill. He was ill. He would not allow that he was
so, however; and dressed himself again in the fine
clothes he had taken from the chest. It was plain,
from his shaking hand and his heavy eye, that he was
too weak, and his head aching too much for him to be
able to do any work ; therefore Ailwin helped Oliver
to finish the grave.

Roger inquired how the work proceeded: and it ap-
peared that he meant to attend the funeral, when he
found that it was to be in the afternoon. His com-
panions did not believe him able: and he himself
doubted it in his heart, resolved as he was to refuse to
believe himself very ill, as long as he could keep off
the thought. He found an excuse, however, for lyiag
on the grass while the others were engaged at the grave.
Oliver hinted to him, very gently, that Mildred and
he had rather see him dressed in the shabbiest clothes
of his own, than following their little brother to his
grave in fine things whieh they could not but consider
stolen. Roger was, in reality, only ashamed ; but he
pretended to be angry; and made use of the pretence
to stay behind. While he lay, ill and miserable, re-
membering that little George alone had seemed to love
him, and that George was dead, he believed it impos-
sible that any one should mourn the child as he did in
his heart.

Oliver himself took something from the chest—care-
VA THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

fully and reverently; and carefully and reverently he
put it back before night. There was a Bible, in Dutch ;
and with it a Prayer-book. He carricd these, while
Ailwin carried the body, wrapped in cloth, with
another piece hanging over it, like a pall. As Oliver
took Mildred’s hand, and saw how pale and sorrowful
she looked (though quite patient), he felt how much
need they all had of the consolations and hopes which
speak to mourners from the book he held.

Ailwin did not understand Dutch ; so Oliver
thought it kindest and best to say in English what he
read, both from the Bible and Prayer-book. He read
a short portion of what St. Paul says about the dead
and their rising again. Then all three assisted in
closing the tomb, firmly and completely ; and then
they kneeled down, and Oliver read a prayer for
mourners from his book. They did not sing; for he
was not sure that.Mildred could go through a hymn.
He made a sign to her to stay when Ailwin went
home; and they two sat down on the grass above the
bank, and read together that part of the Scripture in
which Jesus desires his followers not to let their hearts
be troubled, but to believe in God and in him.

Mildred was soon quite happy; and Oliver was
cheered to see her so. He even began, after a time,
to talk of the future. Te pointed out how the weters
had sunk, leaving now, he supposed, only about three
feet of depth, besides mud and slime. This mud
would make the soil more fertile than it had ever
been, if the remainder of the flood could by any means
be drawn off. He thought his father might return,
and drain his ground, and rebuild the house. Then
the bank they sat on would overlook a more beautiful
GRAVES IN THE LEVELS, US

garden than they had ever yet possessed. The whole land
had been so well warped—(that is, flooded with ferti-
lising mud)—that everything that was planted would
flourish, They might get the finest tulip roots from
Holland, and have a bed of them; and another of
choice auriculas, just below George’s tomb; and
honeysuckles might be trained round it, to attract
the bees.

Mildred liked to hear all this ; and she said so; but
she added that she should like it better still to-morrow,
perhaps. She felt so strangely tired now, that she
could not listen any more, even to what she liked to
hear.

“ Are you going to be ill, do you think, dear ?”

“T don’t know. Don’t you think Roger is ill ?”

“Yes; and I dare say we shall all have the ferer,
from the damps and bad smells of this place.”

“Well—never mind about me, Oliver. I am only
very, very tired yet.”

“Come home, and lie down, and I will sit beside
you,” said Oliver. “You will be patient, I know, dear.
I will try if I can be patient, if I should see you very
ill.”

He led her home, and laid her down, and scarcely
left her for many hours. It was plain now that the
fever had seized upon them ; and where it would stop,
who could tell? During the night he and Ailwin
watched by turns beside their sick companions, This
would not have been necessary for Mildred; but
Roger was sometimes a little delirious ; and they were
afraid of his frightening Mildred by his startings and
strange sayings.

When Ailwin came, at dawn. vo take Oliver's place.
76 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

pee

ene patted him on the shoulder, and bade him go to
steep, and be in no hurry to rouse himself again ; for
he would not be wanted for anything if he should
sleep till noon.

Oliver was tired enough ; but there was one thing
which he had a great mind to do before he slept. He
wished to look out once again from the staircase, when
the sun should have risen, to see whether there was no
moving speck on the wide waters—no promise of help
in what now threatened to be his extremity. Ailwin
thought him perverse ; but did not oppose his going
when he said he was sure he should sleep better after it.
She soon therefore saw his figure among the ruins of
the roof, standing up between her and the brightening
sky. :



CHAPTER XL
MORE HARDSHIP.

Tus morning was unlike the mornings which Oliver
had watched since the flood came. There was no
glowing sky towards the east ; and he saw tist there
would be no broad train of light over the waters, which
should so dazzle his eyes as almost to prevent his
seeing anything else. It was now a stormy-looking
sunrise. Huge piles of clouds lay on the eastern
horizon, through which it seemed impossible that the
rays of the sun should pierce. ‘he distant church-
spire looked black amidst the grey flood; and the
houses and chapel at Sandtoft, which now stood high
out of the water, had a dark and dismal air. Oliver
would have been rather giad to believe that there
would be no sunshine this day, if he had not feared
MORE HARDSHIP. 177

there would be storm. He had so learned, in these
few days, to associate reeking fogs and putrid smells
with hot sunshine, that a shady day would have been
a relief: but if there should come a tempest, what
could be done with the sick members of the party?
It was dangerous to stand under the trees in a thun-
derstorm ; and the poor tent would be soaked through
with a quarter of an hour’s rain. He thought it would
be best to take down the tent, and wrap up Mildred
and Roger in the cloth; and to pile the mattresses,
one upon another, at the foot of the thickest tree they
could find ; so that there might be a chance of one bed
being left dry for poor Mildred.

While arranging this in his mind, Oliver had been
anxiously looking abroad for any moving speck on the
grey waters. Seeing none, but perceiving that the
clouds were slowly mounting the sky, and moving on-
wards, he felt that he ought to be going to the hill, to
make such preparations as were possible before the
first raindrops should fall. Slowly and sadly he turne:
away to do so, when, casting one more glance east-
wards, he perceived something moving—a dark speck,
leaving the ruined roof of a dwelling which stood about
half-way between imself and the hamlet.

There could be no doubt that this speck was a boat;
and as it came nearer, Oliver saw that it was—a large
boat, but quite full. He could distinguish no figures
in it, so heavy seemed the mass of people, or of goods,
with which it was crowded. It came on and on, how-
ever ; and Oliver's heart beat faster as it came. How
he wished now that he had kept a flag flying from the
spot on which he stood! How he wished he now had
@ signal to fix on this height! Though the boat-people

12
178 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

were still too far off to distinguish figures, a signal
might catch their eye. If he went to the Red-hill for
a flag, the boat might bs gone away before his return.
Trembling with haste, ie stripped off his shirt, and
swung it in the air. He even mounted the top stone,
which, surrounded by no wall, or other defence, hung
over the waters below. Oliver would have said, half
an hour before, that he could not have stood alone on
this perilous point: now, he not only stood there, but
waved his white signal with all his strength.

Did anybody notice it?

He once thought he saw what might have been an
oar lifted in the air; but he was not sure. He was
presently only too certain of something else—that the
boat was moving away, not in the direction in which
it had approached, but southwards. He tried, as long
as he could, to disbelieve this; but there it went—
away,—away—and Oliver had to come down from his
stone, put on his clothes again, and find how thirsty
he was.

There was hope still, he felt—great hope: but he
must keep it from Mildred, who was in no condition
to bear the disappointment of such a hope. He
doubted whether Ailwin could control her tongue and
her countenance, while possessed of such news. It
would be hard not to be able to tell any one of what
so filled his thoughts; and he resolved to see first
what state Roger was in.

When he reached the tent, Roger was not there.
Ailwin could not te]l where he was. He had stag-
gered away, like a drunken person, she said—he seemed
so giddy ; but she could not leave Mildred to see after
him, though he had spoken to a lord; if indeed that
MORE HARDSHIP. 179

could be true of a boy like him. Ailwin looked up at
the clouds, every moment, as she spoke ; and Mildred
shivered, as if she missed the morning sunshine. Oliver
saw that he must make ready for the storm, before he
prepared for what might follow. He and Ailwin
pulled down the long piece of cloth from its support,
doubled it again and again, and put Mildred into the
middle of it. Oliver longed to lay her under a leafy
tree ; but he dared not, on account of the lightning,
which was already beginning to flash. He and Ailwin
set up the deal table as a sort of penthouse over her ;
and then busied themselves, in her sight, in piling
together everything else they had, to keep as many
articles as possible from spoiling.

Oliver was just thinking that he might slip away te
seek Roger, when he saw that Mildred was sobbing,
under the heap of cloth they had laid upon her. Ina
moment he was by her side, saying,—

“ What is the matter, dear? Are you afraid of the
storm? JI never knew you afraid of thunder and
lightning ; but perhaps you may be now, because you
are ill.”

“No,” sobbed Mildred.

“T cannot help being glad of this storm,” continued
Oliver, “though it is disagreeable, at the time, to
people who have no house to go to. I hope it will
clear the air, and freshen it ; and that is the very thing
we want, to make you better.”

“Tt is not that, Oliver. I don’t mind the storm
at all.”

“Then what makes you cry so, dear? Is it about
Geordie ?”

“Yes. Something about him that I don’t thinl

12—a
180 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

you know; something that I shall never bear to think
of. It will make me miserable as long asI live. Do
you know, I was tired of nursing him, and hearing
him cry; and I gave it up—the only thing I could do
for him! I asked Ailwin to take him. And in two
days he was dead; and I could never do anything for
him any more.”

Here a burst of grief stopped her voice. Her bro-
ther said, very solemnly,—

“ Now, Mildred, listen to me,—to the little I can
say,—for you know I cannot, in this place, stay and
talk with you as we should both like, and as we might
have done at home. I think you were almost always
very kind to Geordie; and I am sure he loved you
very dearly. But I have heard mother say that the
worst part of losing dear friends is that we have to
blame ourselves, more or less, for our behaviour to
them,—even to those we loved the very most. So I
will not flatter you, dear: though I don’t at all wonder
at your being tired of hearing Geordie cry that day.
I will not say whether you were right or wrong ; but
only put you in mind that we may always ask for
pardon. Remember, too, that you may meet Geordie
again ; and perhaps be kinder to him than we ever are
to one another here-—Now I will go, and come back
again soon.”

“Stop one minute,” implored Mildred. “TI dreamed
that you all went away from this hill, and left me alone.”

Ag she said this, she looked at her brother, with
such a painful wistfulness, that he saw that she had
had a fever-dream, and was not yet quite clear from
its remains. He laughed, as at something ridiculous;
which Mildred seemed to like: and then he reminded
MORE HARDSHIP. 181

her more gravely, that they could not get away from
this place if they would. If an opportunity should
occur, he assured her he would not leave hold of her
hand. Nothing should make him step into a boat
without her. Poor Mildred had fancied, bewildered
as she was this morning, that if Oliver knew.of what
she had done about George, he would think himself
justified in leaving her to perish on the hill; and yet
she could not help telling him. Her mind was relieved,
for the present, and she let him go.

He found Roger where he first looked for him,—
near the mummy. The poor lad was too ill to stand ;
but he lay on the slimy bank, poking and grubbing,
with a stick and with his fingers, as deep in the soft
soil as he could penetrate. Oliver saw that he had
found some more curiosities ;—bunches of nuts,—nuts
which were ripening on the tree many hundreds of
seasons ago; but which no hand had plucked till
now. Oliver could neither wonder nor admire, at this
moment: nor was he vexed (as he might have been at
another time) at Roger’s crawling hither, in pursuit of
gain, to be made more ill by every breath he drew while
stooping over the rank mud.

“Don’t be afraid, Roger,” said Oliver. “Iam not
going to touch your findings, or meddle with you. I
want you to change your clothes,—to put off that
finery,—and to let me know where the bag of money
is that you took out of the chest.”

Roger stared.

“Tam going to pack that chest again; and I want
to see everything in it, that it may be ready if any
boat should come.”

“Boat !” exclaimed Roger.
182 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“Yes: a boat may come, you know; and we must
not detain it, if such a thing should happen. If you
die without restoring that money, Roger, it will be a
sin upon your soul: so tell me where it is, and have
an easy mind, I advise you. That will be a good
thing, if you live an hundred years.”

“Thereis a boat here now! You are going to leave
me behind!” cried Roger, scrambling up on his feet,
and falling again from weakness, two or three times.
“JT knew it,” he continued; “I dreamt it all last
night ; and it is going to come true to-day.”

“Mildred dreamed the same thing ; and it is be-
cause you are both ill,” said Oliver. “ Lean upon me,
—as heavily as you like,—and I will go home with you,
as slowly as you will, if you will tell me where the
money-bag is. You will find no boat there now, what-
ever there may be by-and-by: but if you will not tell
me where the money-bag is, I will shake you off now,
and leave you here. It is another person’s money: and
T must have it.”

Roger said he would tell, if Oliver would promise
him not to leave him alone on the island. Oliver
assured him that there was no danger whatever of the
deliverers of some of the party leaving others to perish.
He owned that he was bound to make his sister his
first care, and Ailwin his next. As boys, Roger and
himself must be satisfied to be thought of last ; but he
hoped they should neither of them do an ill turn by
the other. He asked if Roger had ever received an
ill turn from him.

“That is the thing,” said Roger, sorrowfully ; “and
you have had so many from me and mine!”

“T am sure I forgive them al!, now you have once
MORE HARDSHIP. 183

said that,” cried Oliver. “TI forgive and forget them
all: and so would father, if he heard you.”

“No! would he? And he said once that he and his
would scorn to be like me and mine.”

“Did you hear him say that? You used to hear
every word we said to one another, I think.”

“Tt was Ailwin that threw that in my teeth.”

“Father would not say so now ;—never atter you
nad had Geordie on your knees and made him fond of
you, as you did.”

“Do you really think so ?”

“Tam almost sure of it. But he could not help
thinking badly of you if you keep that money.”

“Tam not going to keep it. Do you go and find
it, if you like; for I can’t. It is in a hollow elm that
stands between two beeches, on the other side of the
wood. There isa little cross cut in the bark; on the
south side—that will help you to find it. But don’t
you go till you have got me to the tent.”

Oliver helped him home, amidst lightning and
splashing rain, explaining as they went why the tent
was down, but thinking it best to say nothing of the
boat to one so weak-spirited as Roger was now. He
then ran off, and found the money-bag. He wished
the weather would clear, that he might look out again :
but, meanwhile, he felt that he was not losing time in
collecting together all the goods that were on the hill ;
for the tempest so darkened and filled the air, that
he knew he could not have seen a furlong into the
distance, if he had been on his perch at this moment.
He wore his mother’s watch in his pocket, feeling as
if it promised that he should meet her again, to put
it back into her hands.
184 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

“Now, Oliver,” said Ailwin, “I am vexed with
you that you did not sleep while you might, before
this growling, splashing weather came on, and while
there was something of a shelter over your head. If
you don’t go to sleep the minute this tempest is over,
I must see what I must do to you: for you will be
having the fever else ; and then what is to become of
me. among you all, I should like to know? I wish
you would creep in now between the mattresses under
the tree, and never think of the storm, but go to sleep
like a good boy. It is hardly likely that the light-
ning should strike that particular tree, just while you
are under it.”

“But if you should chance to find me a cinder,
when you thought it time for me to be waking,
Ailwin—would not that be as bad as my having the
tever ?”

“ Oliver! how can you talk so? How dare you
think of such a shocking thing ?”

“You put it into my head, Ailwin. But come—
let me tell you a thing I want you to do, if I should
be away when it stops raining. Here are Roger’s
old clothes, safe and dry here between the beds. When
it leaves off raining, make him pull off his wet finery,
and put on his own dry things. And keep that
finery somewhere out of his way, that I may put it
back into the chest, where it ought to be lying now.
Will you do this, Ailwin ?”

“Why, I'll see. If I was quite sure that he had
nothing to do with this storm, I might manage him
as I could any other boy.”

“ Anybody may manage him to-day, with a little
kindness) He is Ul and weak-spirited ; and you can
MORE HARDSHIP. 185

touch his heart with a word. If you only remember
how George cried after him, you will be gentle with
him, I know.”

“Well, that’s true: and I doubt whether a lord
would have spoken with him, if he had been so dan-
gerous as he seems sometimes. Now, as to dinner to-
day, Oliver—I really don’t like to give Mildred such
food as the game on the island now is. I am sure it
is downright unwholesome. Bird and beast, they are
all dying off faster than we can kill them.”

“ had some meal-fed fowls left.”

“Just two; and that is al?: and the truth is, I
don’t like to part those two poor things, enjoying the
meal-picking together ; and then, they are the last of
our wholesome food.”

“Then let us have them while they are wholesome.
Boil one to-day, and make the broth as nice as you
can for Mildred. We will cook the other to-
morrow.”

“ And what next day?”

“We will see to that when the day comes. Oh
dear! when will these clouds have emptied them-
selves? Surely they cannot pour down at this rate
long.”

“The thunder and lightning are just over, and
that’s a comfort,” said Ailwin. “You might stand
under any tree, now, Oliver; and you go wandering
about, as if you were a duck in your heart, and loved
the rain.”

Ailwin might wonder, for Oliver was indeed very
restless. While waiting the moment when he might
again cross to the staircase, he could not even stand
186 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

still under a tree. The secret of his having seen the
boat was too heavy a one to be borne when he was

no longer busy. He felt that he should tell, if he

remained beside his sister and Ailwin; so he wan-

dered off, through the wood, to try how far he could

see over the waters to the south, now that the tempest

was passing away.

Through the trees he saw some one—a tall person,
walking on the grass by the water-side. He ran—
he flew. There was a boat lying against the bank,
and two or three: men walking towards the wood. The
foremost was Pastor Dendel. Oliver sprang into his
arms, clung round his neck for a moment, and then
fainted away.

CHAPTER XII.
NEWS.

OLIVER soon recovered. The strong, manly caress of
the pastor seemed to revive him, even more than the
water the others threw on his face. His first word
was “ mother.”

“She is safe, my boy: and she will be well when I
take you to her. Are you alone here, Oliver ?”

“ Alone! O no! Don’t let these men go and startle
Mildred and the rest ”

“Thank God!” exclaimed Pastor Dendel.

The two men who were with him seemed about to
raise a shout, and wave their hats, but the pastor for-
bade them by a gesture. He whispered to Oliver,—

“Mildred, and who else, my dear? We know
nothing, you areaware. Your father: ”




NEWS. 18?

“He was carried off in the mill,—out to the
Humber ms

Oliver stopped, as he saw the men exchange a look
of awe, which took his breath away again.

“ We have something like news of your father too,
Oliver. There is a rumour which makes us hope that
he may be safe at a distance. Your mother believes
it, as she will tell you. Is it possible that you are all
alive, after such a calamity as this?”

“George is dead, sir. We buried him yesterday.
Ailwin is hera, with Mildred and me; and Roger
Redfurn.”

One of the wen observed that he had hoped, as
one good that would come of the flood, that the
Levels were rid of the Redfurns.

“Do not say that,” said Oliver. “ Roger has helped
us in many things; and he was kind to little George.
Let me go, sir. I can walk now very well: and I
want to tell them that you are come.”

“Go, my boy: but doit gently, Oliver,—gently.”

“That is what I want, sir—that they should not
see or hear you: for Mildred is ill,—and Roger too.
Please keep out of sight till I come for you. So
mother is safe,—really ?”

“Really, and we will take you all to her.”

Mildred, lying uncomfortably in the soaked cloth
(for the rain had penetrated everything), was yet
dozing—now and then starting and calling out.
Oliver took her hand, to wake her up, and Asked her,
with a smile, as she opened her eyes, whether she was
dreaming of a boat again. Mildred believed not, but
her head was sadly confused; so much so, that she
heard of the boat which had really come, and the pastor


188 THE SETTLERS AT HOME.

and her parents, without showing any surprise or
pleasure. Little ceremony was necessary with the
strong Ailwin ; and one of the men made short work
with Roger, by lifting him, and carrying him into the
boat. Oliver said a word to the pastor about seeing
George’s grave, and about the chest and the money-
bag, which belonged to somebody who might want
them much. The pastor took charge of the bag; but
declared that everything else must be left for another
trip, at a more leisure time. Mrs. Linacre was waiting,
—and in what a state of expectation !

While the two stout rowers were pulling rapidly away
from the Red-hill, and in the direction. of Gairsborough,
the pastor explained to the party what they most
wanted to know. Mrs. Linacre had heard some
rumour which alarmed her on the day of the flood, and
had locked up her shed, and set out homewards, when
the waters gushed over her road, and compelled her to
turn back. Like a multitude of others, as anxious
and miserable as herself, she had ever since been wan-
dering about in search of a boat, and imploring aid
from every one she met.

Foe three days, it appeared as if there really were no
boats in all the district. Some had certainly been
swamped and broken by the rush of the flood: and
there was great difficulty in bringing round frem the
coast such as could there be had from the fishermen.
Some farmers on the hill had lent their oxen, to bring
boats over the hills; and others, men to row them;
and this was in time to save many lives. What
number had been lost, it was impossible yet to say;
but the cleverness and the hopefulness with which a
multitude had struggled for life, during five days of
NEWS. 189

hardship and peril were wonderful and admirable.
Mrs. Linacre bad trusted in the power which God gives
his children in such extremity, and had been persuaded
throughout (except during short moments of despair),
that she should see her husband and children again. In
this persuasion she had been sustained by the pastor, from
the moment of his finding her, after his own escape.

Of his own escape the pastor would say nothing at
present. The children’s minds were too full now for
such tales of wonder and of horror as they must hear
hereafter. Neither would he permit a word on the
origin of the flood. He said they must think as little
as they could of the wicked deeds of men, in this hour
of God’s mercy. One prayer, in every heart, that God
would forgive all evil-minded men,—one such prayer
let there be; and then, no more disturbing thoughts
of enemies in the hour of preservation.

Oliver could not srust himself to ask, in the presence
of strangers, what the rumour was, which the pastor
had mentioned, about his father. The pastor was very
apt to understand what was stirring in people’s hearts ;
and he knew Oliver's at this moment. He explained
to him that a sailor had declared, on landing at Hull,
that the ship in which he was had speken with a Dutch
vessel, off the Humber, in the night, by the light otf
lanterns only, when a voice was heard, as if from the
deck of the Dutchman, crying out, “ Will some one
have the charity to tell the wife of Linacre of the
Levels that he is saved?” The sailors had some fears
about this voice—thought the message odd—fancied
the voice was like what they should suppose a ghosts
to be; and at length, persuaded one another that it
came, not from any ship, but from the air overhead;
190 THE SETTLERS AT HOME,

and that the message meant that Linacre was dead, and
that his soul was saved. When they came ashore,
however, and found what had befallen the Levels, they
began to doubt whether it was not, after all, the voice
of a flesh and blood man that had called out to them.
When the pastor now heard how the miller was floated
off in his mill, he had little doubt of the good man
having been picked up in the Humber, by a vessel sail-
ing for Holland, which could not stop to set him
ashore, but which now contained him, safe and well. _
Within two months, he would be heard of or seen, it
might fairly be hoped.

Mrs. Linacre was kindly taken care of in a farm-
house, near the spring—that farm-house where she had
often taken her copper money to be changed for silver :
but she had been little within doors, day or night. She
had paced all day by the brink of the flood; and as
long as the moon was up, had sat at night on a rising
ground, looking over the waters towards the Red-hill.
She had discovered that the mill was gone, when other
eyes could distinguish nothing so far off. No one had
a glass to lend her—so, at least, it was said; but some
whispered that a glass might have been procured, but
that it was thought she could see only what would dis-
tress her, and nothing that could do her any good.

She was on the brink of the water when the boat
came near. She would have thrown herself in to meet
her children, if a neighbour had not been there to hold
her back.

Oliver’s first words to her were, that he believed
his father was safe on his way to Holland, and would
soon be coming back. The pastor’s first words were,
as he placed Mildred in her arms—
NEWS. 191

“Two children are here restored to you. Will you
uot patiently resign your other little one?”

The speechless mother was hurrying away, with
Mildred on her bosom, and drawing Oliver by the
hand, which she clasped convulsively, when he said—

“ Mother, help me to keep a promise I have made.
Here is Roger Redfurn—very ill. I promised we
would not forsake him. Let him go with us, till he is
well.”

“Whatever you will, my boy ; but do not leave me,
Oliver,—not for a moment.”

“Go on,” said the pastor. “Weare bringing Roger
after you. We shall be at home as soon as you.”

‘Home,’ was the friendly farm-house. There, be-
fore the end of the day, had Oliver learned that his
morning signal had been seen from the large boat; and
that the reason why the, large boat had rowed away
was, not only that it was full, but that the waters were
now too shallow about the Red-hill for any but small
craft. Before the end of the day Mrs. Linacre had
been seen to look like herself once more ; and Ailwin
had told to the wondering neighbours the tale of
the few days, which seemed now like years to look
back upon. She told more than even Oliver had ob-
served of the miserable state of their place of refuge,
which would soon have been a place of death. Scarcely
a breathing thing, she said, was left alive: and, in
going to the boat, she had seen the soaked bee-hives
upset, and the chilled bees lying about, as if there was
no spirit left in them. She shuddered when she
thought of the Red-hill, Then she stimulated the
farm-house people to take care of Roger,—a task in
which Oliver left them little to do. They were willing
492 ‘ HE SETTLERS AT HOKE.

enough, however; for Ailwin told them that though
Roger had been an odd boy in his time, owing to his
having been brought up by qucer people, yet,’ con-
sidering that those people were drowned and gone,
and that Roger had been noticed by a lord, she did not
doubt he might turn qut well, if it so pleased God.

How closely did Mildred clasp her mother’s neck
that evening! Knowing nothing else, and feeling
very strangely, she yet understood that she was in a
place of shelter and comfort, and felt that her head
rested on her mother’s bosom—on that pillow which
has something so far better than all warmth and soft-
ness. By degrees she began to be aware that there
was cool and fresh water, and sweet-smelling flowers,
and that she was tenderly bathed, and laid to rest on
a bed which was neither wet nor under a tree. There
was a surprising silence all round her, she felt, as she
grew stronger, which no one yet attempted to explain
to her; but her mother smiled at her so happily, that
she supposed she was recovering.

Mrs. Linacre did look happy, even in the midst of
her tears for her poor baby. Mildred was recovering,
Oliver ate and slept, and whistled under the window—
like a lightthearted boy, as he once again amused him-
self with carving every piece of hard wood-he could
find. It was clear that he had escaped the fever; and
every day that refreshed his colour, and filled out his
thin face again, brought nearer the hour of his fathev’s
return.

THE END.







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