Inch by inch the waters rose. Faster and madder they swirled past the island on either side. Gradually the area of land grew smaller and smaller.
"We shall have to move the tents," said Mr. Ringold, on the second day. "We must go to the highest point possible."
It was hard work shifting camp in the rain, but it had to be done. Finally the white canvas houses were set up on the top of the knoll whence Blake had looked down to see their friends whom they sought.
And still the rain came down, and still the waters rose.
"Another day, at this rate, and it will be all over—except the swimming," said C. C., grimly.
"Can't we make a raft?" asked Blake. "We have an axe, and there are trees to be cut down."
"Good!" cried Mr. Ringold. "We should have thought of that before. We'll build a raft! On that we may float to safety."
