The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its way
through a hole in the shutter, they could see, in the midst of it, an
enormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a cork,
on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old
gentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for the
roof was off.

"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor, ironically. "I'm afraid
your beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room;
I've left the ceiling on there."

They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet
through, and in an agony of terror.

"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called
after them. "Remember the _last_ visit."

"Pray Heaven it may be!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe
disappeared.

Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little
window in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and
desolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, and
left, in their stead, a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two brothers
crept, shivering and horror-struck, into the kitchen. The water had
gutted the whole first floor: corn, money, almost every movable thing
had been swept away, and there was left only a small white card on the
kitchen table. On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters, were
engraved the words:--