"Well, there's something wrong," said Mrs. Noah; "and we've got to hurry
and find out what it is, or those men will be back and we shall be as
badly off as ever."

"Maybe this has something to do with it," observed Mrs. Lot, pointing to
the anchor rope. "It looks to me as if those horrid men had tied us fast."

"That's just what it is," snapped Mrs. Noah. "They guessed our plan, and
have fastened us to a pole or something, but I imagine we can untie it."

Portia, who had come on deck, gave a short little laugh.

"Why, of course we don't move," she said--"we are anchored!"

"What's that?" queried Mrs. Noah. "We never had an experience like that on
the Ark."

Portia explained the science of the anchor.

"What nonsense!" ejaculated Mrs. Noah. "How can we get away from it?"

"We've got to pull it up," said Portia. "Order all hands on deck and have
it pulled up."

"It can't be done, and, if it could, I wouldn't have it!" said Mrs. Noah,
indignantly. "The idea! Lifting heavy pieces of iron, my dear Portia, is
not a woman's work. Send for Delilah, and let her cut the rope with her
scissors."