“How terrible! When did it happen?” he said, with as yet no sense that the matter might concern him or his. “The last message came a few minutes ago. Operator stood at her post till the last gasp—ticked over the wires, ‘This is my last message,’—then, I suppose, she was swept away, for we can’t get an answer from anywhere near there. The next news we have of the flood”— “I see!” said Mr. Clare suddenly. “I see. The next news will be brought by the water itself!” For a moment the two men stared at each other in horror. Then Mr. Clare said, “How much time have we to get ready for it? one hour? two?” “Can’t hardly tell,” said one of the older operators, looking up from his instrument. “Of course, she loses force and swiftness as she comes along, and it won’t be no forty feet that we’ll get; but, with the river we’ve got now, I guess we’ll have all the water we want. We’ve telephoned the mayor’s office, and, probably, he’ll have the bells rung, to warn the people. My folks will have the flood over the tops of their chimneys, I guess, but I don’t see no way to help it. I can’t leave that door till the flood comes in at the window, or I won’t, anyway.” “I’ll see to them,” said Ernest Clare, “and to your family, too, Heinz. I say, I suppose ‘Prices’ is above high-water mark?” “It’s six foot, about, above all the high-water mark we have _now_,” said the operator grimly. “I don’t say where it’ll be to-morrow; but, maybe, their third story won’t be _very_ wet.” “It’s as safe as anywhere,” said Heinz, “except the tops of the hills.” “Just so,” replied the other, and Mr. Clare hurried away. “I suppose this is the answer to your prayers in the early part of the week,” said Dr. Richards, when Mr. Clare warned him of the coming danger. “I could not tell you about that,” returned the other, “it is hard to decide upon the meaning of a message until one has read it through. Meanwhile, my rooms at ‘Prices’ are entirely at your service; and I should advise you to take valuables, papers, and clothing. You’ll have time to pack them up if you’re not too long about it. Drive over in your buggy, doctor, and I’ll send a boy for the Ark.” Not every one, however, was as easy to move as the Richardses. “Is it a flood?” asked one Irish family whom he visited and warned. “Sure, floods is nothin’ when you’re used to ‘em, your Honor.” And not a step would they budge, until they and their shanty were washed away together. Most people refused to believe that a flood was possible at that season of the year, or that the bursting of the Cannomore Dam could possibly affect the Mickle River.