“I’m going in to Ruth,” Betty said. “If you’re coming, too, you’ll have to behave, Mandy. I’ll not have you frightening her by any silly hysterics.” “Yas’m,” assented Mandy meekly. Ruth was still asleep, though the roar of the sweeping waters came through the open window and occasionally a drench of spray. Her sister went to close the casement. Above, the moon was shining placidly; below, the current boiled and churned. The depth of the stream, Betty guessed, must be eight or ten feet. It was still rising, but the force of its downward rush was terrific. The house pitched like a boat. What was worse, it had tilted so that water was pouring in at the lower windows. If the stream continued to rise, it would probably either sink or overturn. The noise of crashing timbers and beating waves continued. Betty wondered how much pounding an old frame building like this could stand. It was built with an ell, the wing a later addition to the farmhouse. The binding beams connecting the two parts creaked and groaned under the strain put upon them. Ruth woke. Betty sat down on the bed and put her arms round the child. “What ’tis?” asked the child, frightened. “Some of the water got out of the dam and we’re floating in it, dearie. Don’t cry, Ruthie. Betty’ll be here with you all the time.” There came a series of heavy bumps accompanied by the sound of rending timbers. It was as though the floor was being torn from under their feet. Betty thought they were going down. The house listed sharply, then righted itself so suddenly that the girl was flung to the bed. The house had been torn asunder, one wing from the other. Mandy and the child screamed. For a moment Betty was near panic herself. But she fought down her terror resolutely. “See. The floor’s level now.” Her voice was steady and calm. “We’ll probably be all right. Stop that noise, Mandy. Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t have it?” The housekeeper sniffled. “I’m ce’tainly scared to death, honey, I shorely is.” She folded her short, fat arms and rocked. “I been a mighty triflin’ nigger, but I aims frum now on to get shet uv my scandalacious ways an’ travel de road what leads to de pearly gates. Yas’m. Glory Hallelujah! If de good Lawd evah lets me git outa hyeh alive, I’ll shout for salvation at de mourners’ bench mighty loud.” The situation was too desperate for Betty to find any amusement in Mandy’s good resolutions, but it occurred to her to turn some of her fear into another channel. “Let’s sing,” she suggested. Above the booming of the wild waters she lifted her clear young soprano and sang “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.” The first line she carried alone, then Mandy’s rich contralto quavered in and Ruth’s small piping treble joined.