like a moving counterpane. When we had finished the lock we did the weir – which is wheels and chains – and the water pours through over the stones in a magnificent waterfall and sweeps out all round the weir-pool.
The sight of the foaming waterfalls was quite enough reward for our heavy labours, even without the thoughtof the unspeakable gratitude that the bargees would feel to us when they got back to their barge and found her no longer a stick-in-the-mud, but bounding on the free bosom of the river.
When we had opened all the sluices we gazed awhile on the beauties of Nature, and then went home, because we thought it would be more truly noble and good not to wait to be thanked for our kind and devoted action – and besides, it was nearly dinnertime and Oswald thought it was going to rain.
On the way home we agreed not to tell the others, because it would be like boasting of our good acts.
‘They will know all about it,’ Noel said, ‘when they hear us being blessed by the grateful bargees, and the tale of the Unknown Helpers is being told by every village fireside. And then they can write it in the Golden Deed book.’
So we went home. Denny and H.O. had thought better of it, and they were fishing in the moat. They did not catch anything.
Oswald is very weather-wise – at least, so I have heard it said, and he had thought there would be rain. There was. It came on while we were at dinner – a great, strong, thundering rain, coming down in sheets – the first rain we had had since we came to the Moat House.
We went to bed as usual. No presentiment of the coming awfulness clouded our young mirth. I remember Dicky and Oswald had a wrestling match, and Oswald won.
In the middle of the night Oswald was awakened by a hand on his face. It was a wet hand and very cold.Oswald hit out, of course, but a voice said, in a hoarse, hollow whisper –
‘Don’t be a young ass! Have you got any matches? My bed’s full of water; it’s pouring down from the ceiling.’
Oswald’s first thought was that perhaps by opening those sluices we had flooded some secret passage which communicated with the top of Moat House, but when he was properly awake he saw that this could not be, on account of the river being so low.
He had matches. He is, as I said before, a boy full of resources. He struck one and lit a candle, and Dicky, for it was indeed he, gazed with Oswald at the amazing spectacle.
Our bedroom floor was all wet in patches. Dicky’s bed stood in a pond, and from the ceiling water was dripping in rich profusion at a dozen different places. There was a great wet patch in the ceiling, and that was blue, instead of white like the dry part, and the water dripped from different parts of it.
In a moment Oswald was quite unmanned.
‘Krikey!’ he said, in a heart-broken tone, and remained an instant plunged in thought.
‘What on earth are we to do?’ Dicky said.
And really for a short time even Oswald did not know. It was a blood-curdling event, a regular facer. Albert’s uncle had gone to London that day to stay till the next. Yet something must be done.
The first thing was to rouse the unconscious others from their deep sleep, because the water was beginning to drip on to their beds, and though as yet they knew it not, there was quite a pool on Noel’s bed, just in thehollow behind where his knees were doubled up, and one of H.O.’s boots was full of water, that surged wildly out when Oswald happened to kick it over.
We woke them – a difficult task, but we did not shrink from it.
Then we said, ‘Get up, there is a flood! Wake up, or you will be drowned in your beds! And it’s half past two by Oswald’s watch.’
They awoke slowly and very stupidly. H.O. was the slowest and stupidest.
The water poured faster and faster from the ceiling.
We looked at each other and turned pale, and Noel said –
‘Hadn’t we better call Mrs Pettigrew?’
But Oswald simply couldn’t consent to this. He could not
The sight of the foaming waterfalls was quite enough reward for our heavy labours, even without the thoughtof the unspeakable gratitude that the bargees would feel to us when they got back to their barge and found her no longer a stick-in-the-mud, but bounding on the free bosom of the river.
When we had opened all the sluices we gazed awhile on the beauties of Nature, and then went home, because we thought it would be more truly noble and good not to wait to be thanked for our kind and devoted action – and besides, it was nearly dinnertime and Oswald thought it was going to rain.
On the way home we agreed not to tell the others, because it would be like boasting of our good acts.
‘They will know all about it,’ Noel said, ‘when they hear us being blessed by the grateful bargees, and the tale of the Unknown Helpers is being told by every village fireside. And then they can write it in the Golden Deed book.’
So we went home. Denny and H.O. had thought better of it, and they were fishing in the moat. They did not catch anything.
Oswald is very weather-wise – at least, so I have heard it said, and he had thought there would be rain. There was. It came on while we were at dinner – a great, strong, thundering rain, coming down in sheets – the first rain we had had since we came to the Moat House.
We went to bed as usual. No presentiment of the coming awfulness clouded our young mirth. I remember Dicky and Oswald had a wrestling match, and Oswald won.
In the middle of the night Oswald was awakened by a hand on his face. It was a wet hand and very cold.Oswald hit out, of course, but a voice said, in a hoarse, hollow whisper –
‘Don’t be a young ass! Have you got any matches? My bed’s full of water; it’s pouring down from the ceiling.’
Oswald’s first thought was that perhaps by opening those sluices we had flooded some secret passage which communicated with the top of Moat House, but when he was properly awake he saw that this could not be, on account of the river being so low.
He had matches. He is, as I said before, a boy full of resources. He struck one and lit a candle, and Dicky, for it was indeed he, gazed with Oswald at the amazing spectacle.
Our bedroom floor was all wet in patches. Dicky’s bed stood in a pond, and from the ceiling water was dripping in rich profusion at a dozen different places. There was a great wet patch in the ceiling, and that was blue, instead of white like the dry part, and the water dripped from different parts of it.
In a moment Oswald was quite unmanned.
‘Krikey!’ he said, in a heart-broken tone, and remained an instant plunged in thought.
‘What on earth are we to do?’ Dicky said.
And really for a short time even Oswald did not know. It was a blood-curdling event, a regular facer. Albert’s uncle had gone to London that day to stay till the next. Yet something must be done.
The first thing was to rouse the unconscious others from their deep sleep, because the water was beginning to drip on to their beds, and though as yet they knew it not, there was quite a pool on Noel’s bed, just in thehollow behind where his knees were doubled up, and one of H.O.’s boots was full of water, that surged wildly out when Oswald happened to kick it over.
We woke them – a difficult task, but we did not shrink from it.
Then we said, ‘Get up, there is a flood! Wake up, or you will be drowned in your beds! And it’s half past two by Oswald’s watch.’
They awoke slowly and very stupidly. H.O. was the slowest and stupidest.
The water poured faster and faster from the ceiling.
We looked at each other and turned pale, and Noel said –
‘Hadn’t we better call Mrs Pettigrew?’
But Oswald simply couldn’t consent to this. He could not
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