“It is very sad that the hut of poor Peegwish has been carried away,” observed Miss Martha Macdonald, while presiding at the breakfast-table.  
“Yes, it iss fery sad,” responded Angus Macdonald, in a somewhat unamiable tone; “but it iss more sad that he will pe living in our kitchen now, for that wuman Wildcat must pe there too, and it iss not coot for Wildcat to live in the kitchen. She will pe too fond of the kitchen altogether, an’ she will pe a greater thief than our own cawtie, for she is more omniferous an’ not so easy to scare.”
 
“But cook is as good as a weasel at watching cats,” returned Martha, with a smile; “and it is reason we have to be thankful we have no heavier trouble, Angus, for many of the people up the river are driven out of their houses.”
 
“What you say iss true, Martha. Just pefore breakfast I met that Cherman crater, Winklemann, ridin’ to the mission-house for help. The ice would pe scrapin’ the end of his gardin, he was tellin’ me, an’ if the ruver would pe risin’ another fut it would come into the house. He says the people are goin’ off to the mountain like flocks of sheep, carryin’ their coots and trivin’ their cattle pefore them. It is fery pad times, whatever.”
 
In the parlour of Willow Creek House the breakfast party enlarged on the same theme.
 
“Things look serious,” observed Samuel Ravenshaw, as he commenced his third egg. “If the water rises at this rate much longer, not only the houses that stand low on the river banks, but the whole settlement will be in danger. It is said that four houses and a barn were swept away last night by the force of the ice somewhere above the mission premises, and that about sixty people slept in the church.”
 
“It is well that our house stands high,” said Mrs Ravenshaw. “Don’t you think, Sam, that we might have the barn prepared, in case some of our neighbours have to leave their houses?”
 
“The barn is ready, mother,” said Elsie. “Father and I have been arranging it all the morning with the aid of Peegwish, poor fellow, who has been sent to us by Macdonald.”
 
“Ay, and it’s as trim as an hospital,” added Mr Ravenshaw; “but I hope it won’t be wanted. The ice is now clearing away. When it is gone, the river will be sure to fall.—Tell the boy to saddle the horse, Cora,” continued the old gentleman, attacking his fourth egg. “I shall ride up to see how Winklemann gets on. Lambert is helping him.”
 
“Is Lambert’s own house safe?” asked Elsie, with a glance at her sister.
 
“Safe enough just now,” replied her father; “for it stands much higher and further back.”
 
“Don’t forget old Liz Rollin,” said Elsie. “Her hut stands high, but if things get worse she will be in danger, and there is no one to look after her, you know.”
 
“No fear of my forgetting the mother of the man who is helping to search for my dear boy,” returned Ravenshaw, “besides, old Liz is not without friends. Both Louis and Winklemann have promised to keep their eyes on her.”
 
This reference to the mother of Michel Rollin turned the thoughts of the party into a channel that was very familiar, for the lost Tony and his brother were seldom absent from their thoughts. Of late, however, they had ceased to talk much of the absent ones, because, as months flew by without any tidings, their anxieties increased, and as their fears increased they felt less inclined to talk hopefully. Long before the breaking up of the ice Mr Ravenshaw had sent off an expedition at his own cost in search of the searchers. It consisted of a trusty Indian and two half-breeds. They were to cross the plains towards the Saskatchewan district, and make inquiries among the fur-traders there; but nothing had yet been heard of them, and although the face and figure of Tony were never absent from the old man’s memory, his name was not now so frequently on his lips.
 
A sigh from Miss Trim revealed clearly the nature of her thoughts. Poor Miss Trim! Her occupation was almost gone since Tony’s disappearance. Besides losing the terrible and specific task of teaching Tony his lessons, the amiable lady had lost the general duty of keeping Tony in order, putting right what Tony had put wrong, and, generally, undoing what Tony did. She also missed painfully those little daily attentions to her hands and shins, which were rendered necessary in consequence of Tony’s activity with his nails and the toes of his boots, to say nothing of his teeth. For many weeks past—it seemed to her years—Miss Trim had not bandaged a cut, or fomented a bruise, or mollified a scratch with ointment. She absolutely felt as though she had suffered bereavement.
 
The silence which had descended on the breakfast-table was not broken until Mr Ravenshaw’s horse was reported ready at the door. On his way to the main road the old gentleman had to pass close to the summer-house on the knoll so much coveted by Angus Macdonald. There he reined up a few minutes. The position commanded an extensive view, and the aspect of the river was sufficiently alarming. The ice, which by that time had broken up, was rolling and crashing along with inconceivable force before the impetuous torrent. The water had risen to such a height that the lower lands were completely inundated. That it was still rising was made obvious by the fact that the rolling masses at the river-sides were being thrust higher and higher on obstructing points, carrying bushes and trees before them. Even while he gazed a lofty elm that grew on a low part of Angus Macdonald’s property was overthrown as if it had been a mere twig, and swept away. Several young maple and oak trees further down shared the same fate a few minutes later.
 
The house of Angus was full in view. It occupied a mound nearly, though not quite, as high as the knoll on which he stood, and was still, like his own dwelling, far above the reach of the raging flood. The spot where the hut of Peegwish had stood was by that time deep below the surface of the ice-torrent.
 
Mr Ravenshaw did not remain long in contemplation. The weather, which had been stormy, became suddenly cold, and a blinding fall of sleet induced him to button his greatcoat up to the chin as he hastened away.
 
Arriving at the mission station after a gallop of several miles, he found a state of things which almost beggars description. Men, women, and children were hurrying to and fro, laden with their chief valuables, or driving carts loaded with household goods, which they deposited on the mission premises for safety, preparatory to the desertion of houses, which was expected to take place on the morrow. Goods of every description were scattered about in wild confusion, for many of the people were half mad with alarm. The missionary, with his assistants, was doing his best to reduce the chaos to order.
 
Farther up the river Mr Ravenshaw encountered Herr Winklemann bearing a huge arm-chair on his shoulders. “Mine hause is toomed!” he said.
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