Then, striking a match, he saw that his room was awash, and that all sorts of articles were floating about it, drawn hither and thither by the current which swelled and eddied between the old slabs. Up a corner of blanket, touching the water, swarmed a great host of ants, tarantulas, beetles and crickets, whilst drowning mice, lizards, and heaven knows what else, swam wildly round and round and gratefully hailed his bare legs as a harbour of refuge. Hastily rubbing them off, and getting into some wet clothes, he opened the window and looked out. A wan moon shed a feeble light upon one vast sea of turgid water. Nothing in sight but water—water, and the tops of the trees quivering above the flood! No wonder the river talked to itself last night! The scene was enough to make even a man with a backbone quail and feel a bit nervous. As for Barton’s Jackaroo, his first astonishment over, he forgot himself so far as first to whistle, and then to swear, but very softly and tentatively, as one trying an experiment. You see, this was a different matter altogether to being butted of rams, or even being badly bushed without a drink for three days and three nights. Brushing off his sleeve the head of a column of sugar-ants that had effected a lodgment _via_ the window-sill, he waded into the sitting-room and lit the lamp. Then, making for Daisy’s room, he called and tapped until she answered. ‘It’s me—Fortescue. Don’t be alarmed, Daisy—Miss Barton,’ said he. ‘The water’s in the house. Get up and dress, and come out as quickly as possible.’ As he finished speaking a wild yell rang through the place, and Bridget’s voice from near by exclaimed, punctuated by screams,— ‘Howly Mother av Moses! Ow! Blessid Vargin an’ all the saints purtect us! Ow! the divvle be wid me! but it’s drowned I am this minnit! an’ the wather up me legs, an’ niver a soul comin’ next anigh me! Och! wirras-thru! it’s a lost woman I am, wid all the mices and bastes atin’ away at me! Ow! ow! ow!’ With difficulty suppressing a desire to laugh, Fortescue shouted to her to get her clothes on and join him. One little cry of dismay he heard from Daisy as she lit her candle, and then he returned to the dining-room. Here he was startled to notice a burst of dull moonlight coming in through the front of the house where already were gaps caused by the slabs being displaced and carried away by the water. Clearly the building, old and rotten, was going to pieces. Presently Daisy, pale, but silent and composed, entered. Taking her in his arms, he placed her on a sideboard, grieving the while to see how the water poured from her clothes. ‘I am afraid the whole house will go, Daisy,’ he said. ‘It’s shaky and decayed. I was thinking of making a stage on the wall-plates up there. But I’m sure now that our only hope is in a raft of some kind.’