upper bay, and part of Tasajara Creek's running by your house now! Don't
be alarmed," he added reassuringly, glancing at the staring storekeeper.
"You're all right here; this is only the overflow and will find its
level soon."

But Mr. Harkutt remained gazing abstractedly at the smiling speaker.
From the window above the impatient Phemie was wondering why he kept
the strangers waiting in the rain while he talked about things that were
perfectly plain. It was so like a man!

"Then there's a waterway straight to Tasajara Creek?" he said slowly.

"There is, as long as this flood lasts," returned the first speaker
promptly; "and a cutting through the bank of two or three hundred yards
would make it permanent. Well, what's the matter with that?"

"Nothin'," said Harkutt hurriedly. "I am only considerin'! But come in,
dry yourselves, and take suthin'."

The light over the rushing water was withdrawn, and the whole prospect
sank back into profound darkness. Mr. Harkutt had disappeared with
his guests. Then there was the familiar shuffle of his feet on
the staircase, followed by other more cautious footsteps that grew
delicately and even courteously deliberate as they approached. At which
the young girl, in some new sense of decorum, drew in her pretty head,
glanced around the room quickly, reset the tidy on her father's chair,
placed the resplendent accordion like an ornament in the exact centre of
the table, and then vanished into the hall as Mr. Harkutt entered with
the strangers.