elephone on the wall. "The operator says she can't get them--they're
so stupid!" she presently announced.

Jerry took the instrument away from her and the little lady contentedly
began her dressing. When she came out of the dressing-room a few
moments later, her husband was flinging things into his suitcase.

"Get Belle, Jerry?"

"Nope." He spoke cheerfully, but did not meet her eyes. "Nope. They
can't get 'em. Lines seem to be down. I guess we'll take the nine."

"Jerry,"--Molly Tressady came over to him quietly,--"what did they tell
you?"

"Now, nothing at all--" Jerry began. At his tone terror sprang to
Molly's heart and sank its cruel claws there. There was no special news
from Rising Water he explained soothingly; but, seeing that she was
nervous, and the nine was a through train, and so on--and on--

"Timmy--Timmy--Timmy!" screamed Molly's heart. She could not see; she
could not think or hear, or taste her breakfast. Her little boy--her
little, helpless, sturdy, confident baby, who had never been
frightened, never alone--never anything but warm and safe and doubly,
trebly guarded--

They were crossing a sickening confusion that was the hotel lobby. They
were moving in a taxicab through bright, hideous streets. The next
thing she knew, Jerry was seating her in a parlor car.

"Yes, I know, dear--Of course--Surely!" she said pleasantly and
mechanically when he seemed to expect an answer.--She thought of how he
would have come to meet her; of how the little voice always rang out:
"Dere's my muddy!"

"Raining again!" said Jerry. "It stopped this morning at two. Oh, yes,
really it did. We're almost there now. Hello! Here's the boy with the
morning papers. See, dear, here's the head-line: Rain Stops at
One-fifty--"

But Molly had seen another headline--a big headline that read: "Loss of
Life at Rising Water! Governess of Jerome Tressady's Family Swims One
Mile to Safety!"--and she had fainted away.

She was very brave, very reasonable, when consciousness came back, but
there could be no more pretence. She sat in the demoralized little
parlor of the Emville Hotel--waiting for news--very white, very
composed, a terrible look in her eyes. Jerry came and went constantly;
other people constantly came and went. The flood was falling fast now
and barges were being towed down the treacherous waters of Beaver
Creek; refugees--and women and children whom the mere sight of safety
and dry land made hysterical again--we