Just then the little cabin shook. "Strong wind to-night; it is lucky for thee, Christchild, that thou hast found shelter and lucky for me that the evening which promised to be so dull has been a very merry one. "Don't be so sad, boy, If she did treat thee rough, The world is like a hen-roost, Has pullets quite enough." Crescimir ceased singing, for the Christchild stopped suddenly in his romping, gazing fixedly with his large, wondering eyes upon the floor. "What see'st thou, little one?" The child pointed to the door and Crescimir saw two small streams of white, foamy water pouring in from each side, and the floor was covered. Crescimir quickly placed the Christchild on the table and started to open the door, but before he reached it, the house trembled as if in an earthquake shock and the door fell back into the room with a loud crash, while a volume of seething water washed over it almost throwing him down with its terrible force. The water poured in little jets through the cracks in the walls and rushing into the fireplace put out the flames and left the room in total darkness. The water rose rapidly and by the time that Crescimir had grasped the form of his little guest and opening one of the windows had drawn himself with his charge upon the roof, the flood had reached the upper sashes. The cabin swayed to and fro and every moment seemed about to be carried from its foundations. The Christchild made no sound of fear and Crescimir could not see his face, yet he held the long hemlock branch tightly in his little hand. The roof was firmly built of logs and planks so in case the house fell it could be used as a raft and Crescimir exerting all his strength pulled from the sides the flat boards which held it fixed to the cabin. As the flood rose higher, he took the Christchild and lying down in the middle of the roof held on firmly. Suddenly the roof was lifted and whirled down the swollen arroyo into the broad river. Floating logs struck against it, and as they tore along under the bridge they struck against the buttress with terrific force. Onward they were whirled; they could see the lights in the houses of the village and could hear the voices of men and women along the bluffs or in the trees where they had sought shelter. The rain ceased falling, but the wind did not go down, rolling the waves over their raft. Once they lodged for a moment against a great oak where Crescimir strove in vain to make fast. The tide was too powerful and all went with it whirling blindly onward. [Illustration: Scroll] [Illustration: Scroll] III. The waters fell almost as rapidly as they had risen, and by sunrise on Christmas Day, the river had returned between its banks, though still flowing fast and frothy.