The attic was a low, barely furnished room, immediately under the roof. It was lighted from above by a thick sky-window. It held two low beds of plain deal--the chaste couches of Betty and Peggy. There were two chests of drawers, one doubtless sacred to each maid. There were two chairs, a washstand, a portrait of the sergeant, staff-in-hand, and the like of a soldier over which Peggy was supposed to weep out her heart in moments of despondency. "I doubt we're not out of it here," whispered the sergeant to Tom. He cast his light through the doorway. "See, the water mounts quickly. 'Twill be on us, and we mun drown like rats in a hole." "Can you swim?" asked Tom, under his breath. The sergeant nodded. "Doff your boots; keep your cloak and breeches nothing else. Get into that corner. Give me the light. Don't let them see you doff. They're fleyed enough." There was no time even for suspense. The water was already in the attic. Tom dragged a bed beneath the skylight and with a blow from his stick shivered the thick glass. "Yo' mun get through th' skylight, Ramsden," he bawled. The turmoil of the waters drowned all lower speech. "I'll pass t'others to you." Ramsden nodded. The habit of discipline is invaluable in the hour of emergency. Tom had taken the command even in his old master's house, and it seemed natural that he should order and others obey. With difficulty he twisted the portly constable through the aperture. It was a tight squeeze. "Tear up some of the slates. Widen th' hole," shouted Tom, as he dragged a trunk to the top of the bed to stand on. "Now Dorothy," he whispered, "you next." "No, uncle," she said, drawing back. This was no hour for ceremony. Tom almost lifted Mr. Tinker bodily on to the trunk, the sergeant from above seized his wrists, and Tom, with a mighty heave, hoisted him aloft. "Now you, Betty," said Dorothy. It was well for Betty the stone slabs had been wrenched with little difficulty from the sounding lines of the aperture. She was stout and heavy as seemeth a cook, and if there had not been strong braced thighs on the stack, and arms like iron beneath her, Betty would have slept that morn her last sleep on earth in the tiny attic she had known so long. "Now, Dorothy," said Tom. She was already on the chest. He pressed her hand tenderly as she turned her face towards the gap through which the Sergeant had passed. Tom lifted her through almost bodily. "Come you, now," she said as she left his arms. "Here, sergeant," bawled Tom, "take these blankets and things. It'll be cold up there." And Tom hastily passed blankets, sheets, and counterpanes through the window. Then those above heard him tearing at the bedsteads like one possessed. He rove them asunder by main force and passed the sections to the sergeant. Then springing on to the chest he thrust his arms to either side of the roof, and with a thrust of the feet that sent the box flying, forced and prised himself to the roof.