The next day, when the sun shone out, the torrent had subsided and the brook was running between its banks in a steady stream. The hut was still standing, but the bank was undermined and the little bridge carried away. So the widow had herself taken across in a boat and, in great anxiety, hurried to the hut to see what changes had been wrought. The garden was covered with mud and on the meadow were little pools of glistening water. Out of the yard bounded Rover barking heartily and, from her stall, Speckle mooed a welcome. The hens came hurrying out of their coop, flapping their wings and cackling, and straightway began to scratch in the ground in search of little worms. Inside the hut, the hall was wet through and in the best room stood little pools of water. The herb woman took her broom and swept out some of the water and with a cloth mopped up the little pools. Near the hearth the water was quite deep and swirling around and running away through the hole behind. On the water swam a tiny barge formed from a hazel nut, and in this boat was a very small lad indeed, rowing with his oars of straw and working with all his might, so that the whirlpool should not carry him back into the hole. [Illustration] The widow lifted up the shell very carefully and placed it on the palm of her hand. The tiny lad, letting go his oars, clasped his hands and said, »Dear Godmother, I thank you very much for saving me. I am Little Tom, but am so very tired that I can hardly sit up.« But his weariness came only from his efforts to keep himself from being swept back into the hole. His Godmother placed the little fellow gingerly on the table and next to him she put a drop of milk and beside it a crumb of bread. Little Tom gulped the milk eagerly and ate nearly the whole crumb. When she placed near him a tiny bit of cloth for a pillow, Tom lay down and fell asleep. She watched the little fellow tenderly as he lay there so quietly and all worn out with his hard work. He was now a fullgrown lad, finely built and with black hair. His little hands he had clasped across his breast. She felt very badly to think of his sufferings through the night in that terrible flood and she wondered what might have happened to the underground realm of the gnomes. While he was sleeping, she started to work. She scrubbed the floor very clean, then sifted dry sand all over it; cleaned up the garden, and then put some soup to cook over the fire in the kitchen. When she returned to the big room, Little Tom was sitting up, rubbing his blue eyes with his little fists and calling for his mother. As he looked around, he recognized his Godmother and began to cry bitterly. The old lady tried to soothe him, begging him not to cry and to tell her all that had happened. But, for a long time, he could not be quieted. When he had cried himself out, he told her what misfortunes had come upon the underground realm.