the horror-stricken terry thought no more about his wife, whom he was in the act of lifting through the trap-door, but let go her hand, allowing her to drop with a crash that shook the whole building.
“where is the child?” he asked, facing the elder daughter.
“yonder; i was trying to hold her when she slipped away and rolled down the slope of the roof—”
but the father waited to hear no more. just then the cry of his baby reached his ear, and he caught a glimpse of the white clothing which helped to buoy her up. like an athlete, running along a spring-board to gather momentum for his tremendous leap, he took a couple of steps down the incline of the roof to the edge, from which he made a tremendous bound far out in the muddy torrent.
it was the energy of desperation and the delirium of paternal affection itself which carried him for a long way over the water, so that when he struck, one extended arm seized the shoulder of his child, while the other sustained both from sinking.
poor katie, who had been gasping for breath, now began crying, and the sound was welcome to the parent, for it proved that she was alive. had she been quiet he would have believed she was drowned.
the trees which grew so thickly in the little valley served another good purpose in addition to that already named. the most powerful swimmer that ever lived could not make headway against such a torrent, nor indeed hold his own for a moment.
terry would have been quickly swept beyond sight and sound of the rest of his family had he not grasped a strong, protruding limb by which he checked his progress.
“are ye there, terry?”
it was his wife who called. she had heard the frenzied cry of the elder girl at the moment she went downward herself with such a resounding crash. she was as frantic as her husband, and did that which would have been impossible at any other time. grasping the sides of the trap-door, she drew herself upward and through with as much deftness as her husband a few minutes before. she asked the agonized question at the moment her head and shoulders appeared above the roof.
“yis, i’m here, delia,” he called back, “and katie is wid me.”
“hiven be praised!” was the fervent response of the wife; “i don’t care now if the owld shanty is knocked into smithereens.”
the speech was worthy of an irishwoman, who never thought of her own inevitable fate in case the catastrophe named should overtake her dwelling while she was on the roof. she could dimly discern the figures of her husband and child, as the former clung to the friendly limb.
“if yer faat are risting so gintaaly on the ground,” said the wife, who supposed for the moment he was standing on the earth and grasping the branch to steady himself, “why doesn’t ye walk forward and jine us?”
“if my faat are risting on the ground!” repeated terry: “and if i were doing the same, i would be as tall as a maating-house wid the staaple thrown in.”
“thin would ye loike to have us join ye?” persisted the wife.
“arrah, delia, now are ye gone clean crazy, that ye talks in that style? stay where ye be, and i would be thankful if i could get back to ye, which the same i can’t do.”
the wife had been so flustered that her questions were a little mixed, but by the time she was fairly seated on the roof, with one arm encircling maggie, who clung, frightened and crying, to her, she began to realize her situation.
“terry,” she called again, “are ye not comfortable?”
“wal, yis,” replied the fellow, whose waggery must show itself, now that he believed the entire family were safe from the flood, “i faals as comfortable, thank ye, as if i was standing on me head on the top of a barber’s pole. how is it wid yerself, me jewel?”
“i’m thankful for the blissing of our lives; but why don’t ye climb into the traa and take a seat?”
“i will do so in a few minutes.”
there was good ground for this promise. although terry had been sustaining himself only a brief while, he felt the water rising so rapidly that the crown of his head, which was several inches below the supporting limb, quickly touched it, and as he shifted his position slightly it ascended still farther. while sustaining his child he could not lift both over the branch, but, with the help of the current, would soon be able to do so.
requesting his wife to hold her peace for the moment, he seized the opportunity the instant it presented itself, and with comparatively little outlay of strength, placed himself astride the branch. this was all well enough, provided the flood did not keep on ascending, but it was doing that very thing, and his perch must speedily become untenable.
his refuge, however, was a sturdy oak, whose top was fully twenty feet above him, and, like its kind, was abundantly supplied with strong branches, so near each other that it was not difficult for the father to climb to a safe point, where he was confident the furious waters could never reach him.
having seated himself in a better position than before, he surveyed his surroundings with some degree of composure.
“delia,” he called, “i obsarve ye are there yit.”
“i’m thankful that yer words are the thruth, and if ye kaap on climbing ye’ll be in the clouds by morning.”
now, while the rising torrent had proven of great assistance in one way to terry and his infant child, it threatened a still graver peril to the mother and maggie, who remained on the roof.
the house, being of wood, was liable to be lifted from its foundations and carried in sections down-stream. in that event it would seem that nothing could save the couple from immediate drowning.
neither the husband nor wife thought of this calamity until she called out, under the stress of her new fear:
“terry, the owld building can’t stand this.”
“what do ye maan, me darling?”
“i faal it moving under me as though its getting onaisy—oh! we’re afloat!”
the exclamation was true. the little structure, after resisting the giant tugging at it as though it were a sentient thing, yielded when it could hold out no longer. it popped up a foot or two like a cork, as if to recover its gravity, and the next moment started down the torrent.
it was at this juncture that terry uttered the despairing cry which brought dick halliard and jim mcgovern hurrying to the spot on the shore directly opposite.
but unexpected good fortune attended the shifting of the little building from its foundations. swinging partly around, it drifted against the tree in which terry had taken refuge with his child. his wife and maggie were so near that he could touch them with his outstretched hand.
“climb into the limbs,” he said, “for the owld shebang will soon go to pieces.”
he could give little help, since he had to keep one arm about katie, but the wife was cool and collected, now that she fully comprehended her danger. the projecting limbs were within convenient reach, and it took her but a minute or two to ensconce herself beside her husband and other child.
quick as was the action it was not a moment too soon, for she was hardly on her perch and safely established by the side of all that was dear to her when the house broke into a dozen fragments, the roof itself disintegrating, and every portion quickly vanished among the tree-tops in the darkness.
“helloa, terry, are you alive?” called dick halliard.
“we’re all alive, hiven be praised!” replied the irishman, “and are roosting among the tree-tops.”
“it will be all right with you then,” was the cheery response, “for i don’t think the flood will rise any higher.”
“little odds if it does, for we haven’t raiched the top story of our new risidence yit.”
just then a dark object struck the ground at the feet of the boys, swinging around like a log of wood. seeing what it was, dick halliard stooped down and drew it out of the current.
“what is it?” asked mcgovern, in a whisper, seeing as he spoke that it was a human body. “great heavens! it is tom wagstaff!”
“so it is,” replied dick, “and he is dead.”
“and so is bobb budd!”
