For the next three days after the boys’ exploit in Canada, it rained. Not gentle showers, but a good stiff down-pour that drenched the land, swelled the Lake, and ruined young crops. Her Highness was kept in the carriage shed under the tool house, because besides raining as if it were never going to stop, there was thunder and lightning, and hours of pitch blackness. Both Jim and Bob would have liked nothing better than to go soaring up and battle with the elements but they knew that such an adventure would cause Mrs. Fenton terrific worry every moment they were out of her sight, so they contented themselves with the radio, phonograph, some jolly old books they found in the attic, and swims between storms. Several times they caught glimpses of the strange boy as he went splashing by to and from the garden, and they watched his run-off with considerable interest.
“If he keeps the water down on that hole land it will save the alfalfa meadow,” Mr. Fenton remarked thoughtfully.
“Does he seem to be doing it, Uncle Norman?”
“So far the water isn’t any higher.”
“Jinks, that’s great,” Jim exclaimed with enthusiasm. He rather envied Corso’s young nephew who disregarded weather and waded barefoot along the road, his overalls rolled above his knees, and not even a splattering automobile racing past him, sending sheets of water from all four wheels, seemed to disturb him.
The morning of the fourth day broke clear and fine, the sky velvet blue, and not a cloud in sight. The step-brothers came down stairs with joyous whoops, and young Caldwell danced his aunt about the kitchen.
“Well, my land, if you want me to dance with you Bob, you will have to make it a reel or a jig—”
“Let it be a jig,” Bob answered promptly and taking her hand he began the clattery dance while Jim played an accompaniment on the mouth organ. But in a few minutes Mrs. Fenton had to stop for breath.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she demanded. “I never supposed that any young one could do it these days.”
“In school,” Bob answered. “You ought to see Jim Highland Fling.”
“What’s all the shouting about?” Mr. Fenton asked. He had just come in with the brimming milk pails.
“Look at the weather,” Jim laughed.
“It’s enough to make an airplane do a tail spin,” Bob added.
“No doubt, but I hope Her Highness doesn’t do any more—”
“More?” The boys chorused.
“Canadian chap telephoned me yesterday to inquire if you live here, and he said that you two had made the country safe for the Mounted Police—”
“Aw, go on,” Bob exclaimed in disgust.
“What did they do that for?” demanded Jim.
“In the course of his duty,” Mr. Fenton smiled. “We’ll be very much obliged if you will give us the details of the war while we breakfast. We want to know all about it. It isn’t every day that exciting things happen around us and we feel that we have been slighted—”
“That’s all right, Mr. Fenton. Bob did most of it. I’ll tell you the whole story—”
“I did not do most of it,” Bob denied emphatically. “If you leave out anything you did, I’ll tell them.”
“Fair enough,” Mr. Fenton laughed. “Now sit down, satisfy the first pangs of hunger, then begin,” he ordered, and the boys took their places.
Between the two of them, the Fentons were able to get a fairly interesting account of what happened, and when the story was finished, Mrs. Fenton looked at them soberly.
“My, my, you might both have been killed. That was why you got me those new baskets. I thought there was something queer about your losing it,” Mrs. Fenton exclaimed. “If you had lost it, or forgotten it, I should not have minded one bit; but if you had told me how you happened to throw it overboard, I should have been glad.”
“We wanted to be sure that we had a basket for next time,” Bob grinned cheerfully. “We expect there will be other next times.”
“My land of goodness, there’s the mail man. He looks like a drowned rat. Come right in, Harvey.” The R.F.D. man wore boots that came to his thigh, and even at that he was splashed with mud.
“Got a registered letter, and another one that looks important, so I didn’t put them in the box,” the man explained. “Some rain we’ve had. Did you know, Fenton, that the Carrying Point is covered? The water is going over it like a mill race, and I had all I could do to keep the wheels under me. Loaded the car up with rocks or I’d have been swimming around after the letters.”
“My land sakes alive, is it as bad as that! Here Jim, this letter seems to be for you.” Mrs. Fenton gave Austin a long envelope, which he accepted with surprise. In the corner was a Canadian stamp.
“Looks like it’s from your friends across the border,” Mr. Fenton said. Jim opened it promptly, and scanned the contents, then he smiled with relief that it wasn’t more formidable. The salutation was as he had signed the note he dropped to the Mounties in the Ravine.
‘Flying Buddies.
Gentlemen:
It would give us great pleasure if you will join us in an informal dinner tomorrow evening at seven P.M. In going over the off duty hours, we find that most of the men who participated in the affair at the ravine can be present. You have our solemn word that the dinner is merely a friendly one, and you will not be embarrassed by speeches. As a matter of fact you may be aroused to the fighting point by the uncomplimentary remarks of your hosts. Telephone me if the time is not convenient to you, and believe me,
Very sincerely yours,
Allen Ruhel.’
“Great guns and little fish-hooks, that will be fun,” Bob shouted.
“It means tonight,” Jim reminded his step-brother.
“It says tomorrow.”
“But it’s dated yesterday.”
“That’s so. We’ll get Her Highness diked out, and be ready. Suppose we better wear real clothes under our flying suits—”
“Dinner coats,” Jim agreed. “If it’s informal we don’t have to do more than that—”
“Brush our teeth,” Bob suggested. They showed the letter to the Fentons and the man looked grave.
“I hope they are careful what they say,” he remarked seriously.
“What do you mean?” Bob demanded.
“These international affairs are ticklish things. If you get riled and throw a soup plate, or some little thing like that, it might bring on a war. It doesn’t take much to bring on a war—”
“There isn’t a soup plate handy, Uncle Norman, but I know where Aunt Belle keeps her potato masher. You want to be very careful that you do not start any internal wars; they are the worst sort.”
“Guess I better get outside if that’s the case,” he chuckled, and went for his own high boots.
“Let’s have a look at the world,” Jim proposed, then added, “Old Champlain looks kind of high to me. Is it usually so?”
“Suppose it would be after so much rain,” Bob put in.
“No it isn’t,” Mrs. Fenton answered, and she looked very serious. “It’s higher now than it’s been in years, and with the rain stopped, it will fill more. There are so many streams, some big ones, that empty into it all around.” She went with the boys to the back veranda and glanced across anxiously. “I can’t see Gull Rock at all, and Fisher’s Island looks as if half of it is under water.”
“If it comes flooding too high, we’ll take you and Uncle Norman up in Her Highness out of danger,” Bob promised.
“We can get in the boats if necessary, Bob, and we’ve got a lot of high land for the stock, so that will be all right, but there are many of the people here who have small farms. My land sakes alive, I expect that some of them are in a bad way right this minute. I’ll go telephone.” She hurried into the house, and in a moment the boys heard her talking with some neighbors.
“Let’s have a walk around,” Bob suggested.
“We won’t need to wheel Her Highness out. Look at the carriage shed,” Jim exclaimed as he happened to glance in that direction and saw the water lapping up under the wide doors.
“Cracky. Let’s see if she’s all right.”
“We’ll have to take our shoes off—or get boots.”
“I’ll see if Aunt Belle has any extra pairs around.” He went inside, while Jim surveyed the turbulent waters which had risen several feet and were thrashing up to the edge of Mrs. Fenton’s flower garden, and was more than half way across the lawn when the two boys first saw it.
“Come on,” Bob called, and Jim went inside to the shed. “Here are some boots. Aunt Belle says they are water-proof, but not very handsome. They have been patched.”
“They will be just the thing.” Presently the pair had their feet in boots several sizes too large for them, but they grinned, and went down into the yard. Their first care was Her Highness. The water had run up a little way under her, but she hadn’t suffered any damage. Jim got into the cock-pit and shifted the wheels to the floats, and that done the boys continued the tour of inspection.
“If it rains any more, by George, there will be the deuce to pay.” They went to the edge of the Lake, but could not follow its rim because the inundations were deep and many of them ended in treacherous swampy stretches. Where the cedar-rimmed cliff came close to the lake’s edge, the water pounded high above all previous marks, and some of the lower ones were being undermined by the strength of the waves.
“Looks like a regular ocean,” Jim remarked thoughtfully as they stood on a promontory which jutted out in defiance of Old Champlain’s fury. “Say, where’s that Carrying Point?”
“Further down. About half way to the village. Remember the day we were coming up and you noticed a neck of land, lake on both sides, that connected the two larger sections of North Hero?”
“Oh sure. Little stretch with a beach and roadway.”
“That’s it. Mom told me it got its name from Revolutionary days. Pirates and smugglers coming down from Canada with loads of goods in small boats, carried their boats across this piece and would get away from the officers, or whoever happened to be chasing them. It’s quite historic. A bigger craft coming along would have to go all the way around and by that time the............