sitting, a shadowy ghost of herself, in the shelter
of the boxed supplies that might be needed. He did not protest, but sat
beside her; and Belle's friend, a serious, muscular young man, took his
place at her other side.

The puffing little George Dickey started on her merciful journey only
after some agonizing delays; but Molly did not comment upon them once,
nor did any one of the trio speak throughout the terrible journey. The
storm was gone now, and pale, uncertain sunlight was falling over the
altered landscape--over the yellow, sullen current of the river; over
the drowned hills and partly submerged farms. A broom drifted by; a
child's perambulator; a porch chair. Now and then there was frantic
signalling from some little, sober group of refugees, huddled together
on a water-stained porch or travelling slowly down the heavy roads in a
spattered surrey.

"This is as near as we can go," Jerry said presently. The three were
rowed across shallow water and found themselves slowly following on
foot the partly obliterated road they knew so well. A turn of the road
brought the bungalow into view.

There the little house stood, again high above the flood, though the
garden was a drenched waste, and a shallow sheet of water still lay
across the pathway. The sinking sun struck dazzling lights from all the
windows; no living thing was in sight. A terrible stillness held the
place!

To the gate they went and across the pool. Then Jerry laid a
restraining hand on his wife's arm.

"Yes'm. You'd 'a' better wait here," said young Rogers, speaking for
the first time. "Belle wouldn't 'a' stayed, you may be sure. We'll just
take a look."

They were not ten feet from the house, now--hesitating, sick with
dread. Suddenly on the still air there was borne a sound that stopped
them where they stood. It was a voice--Belle's voice--tired and
somewhat low, but unmistakably Belle's:

"Then i'll go home, my crown to wear;
for there's a crown for me--"

"Belle!" screamed Molly. Somehow she had mounted the steps, crossed the
porch, and was at the kitchen door.

Belle and Timothy were in the kitchen--Timothy's little bib tied about
his neck, Timothy's little person securely strapped in his high chair,
and Timothy's blue bowl, full of some miraculously preserved cereal,
before him. Belle was seated--her arms resting heavily and wearily upon
his tray, her dress stained to the armpits, her face colorless and
marked by dark li