nd the Baron
Courbertin marked it with a stick.

"Our man's still there, but he doesn't move."

It was clear day, and the sun was breaking forth in the north-east.
They took turn about with the glasses in gazing across the river.

"Look! Is it not marvellous?" Courbertin pointed to the mark he had
made. The water had dropped another foot. "Ah! Too bad! too bad!
The jam; there will be none!"

Jacob Welse regarded him gravely.

"Ah! There will be?" he asked, picking up hope.

Frona looked inquiringly at her father.

"Jams are not always nice," he said, with a short laugh. "It all
depends where they take place and where you happen to be."

"But the river! Look! It falls; I can see it before my eyes."

"It is not too late." He swept the island-studded bend and saw the
ice-mountains larger and reaching out one to the other. "Go into the
tent, Courbertin, and put on the pair of moccasins you'll find by the
stove. Go on. You won't miss anything. And you, Frona, start the
fire and get the coffee under way."

Half an hour after, though the river had fallen twenty feet, they found
the ice still pounding along.

"Now the fun begins. Here, take a squint, you hot-headed Gaul. The
left-hand channel, man. Now she takes it!"

Courbertin saw the left-hand channel close, and then a great white
barrier heave up and travel from island to island. The ice before them
slowed down and came to rest. Then followed the instant rise of the
river. Up it came in a swift rush, as though nothing short of the sky
could stop it. As when they were first awakened, the cakes rubbed and
slid inshore over the crest of the bank, the muddy water creeping in
advance and marking the way.

"Mon Dieu! But this is not nice!"

"But magnificent, baron," Frona teased. "In the meanwhile you are
getting your feet wet."

He retreated out of the water, and in time, for a small avalanche of
cakes rattled down upon the place he had just left. The rising water
had forced the ice up till it stood breast-high above the island like a
wall.

"But it will go down soon when the jam breaks. See, even now it comes
up not so swift. It has broken."

Frona was watching the barrier. "No, it hasn't," she denied.

"But the water no longer rises like a race-horse."

"Nor does it stop rising."

He was puzzled for the nonce. Then his face brightened. "Ah! I have
it! Above, somewhere, there is another jam. Most excellent, is it
not?"