"Yes, it was," he replied. "The tide's very high, and the water
got over that hole and rushed in. The water and the wind will
finish this old craft before very long."

And then he took his load from me and dashed down the gang-plank.
I went below to look for Pomona. The lantern still hung on the
nail, and I took it down and went into the kitchen. There was
Pomona, dressed, and with her hat on, quietly packing some things
in a basket.

"Come, hurry out of this," I cried. "Don't you know that this
house--this boat, I mean, is a wreck?"

"Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean--I know it, and I suppose we shall soon
be at the mercy of the waves."

"Well, then, go as quickly as you can. What are you putting in
that basket?"

"Food," she said. "We may need it."

I took her by the shoulder and hurried her on deck, over the
bulwark, down the gang-plank, and so on to the place where I had
left Euphemia.

I found the dear girl there, quiet and collected, all up in a
little bunch, to shield herself from the wind. I wasted no time,
but hurried the two women over to the house of our milk-merchant.
There, with some difficulty, I roused the good woman, and after