piled on the levee, and bags of earth and stone placed where they would do the most good. Everyone was working hard, by the light of the flaring torches. It was hard, dirty and unpleasant labor, for it rained at intervals, all night. Splashing through the mud, slipping and sliding on the treacherous footing, Joe and Blake toiled with the rest. They wore their rubber boots and raincoats, which, in a great measure, protected them.
And, be it said to the credit of Christopher Cutler Piper, he labored as hard as any of the others, and never made a complaint.
"It's coming morning," said Colonel Whitmore, as he pointed to a faint gray streak in the east. "We'll have better light to work by, soon."
Slowly the light grew, and, with the coming of the dawn, the rain ceased—at least for a time.
"That'll give us time to catch our breaths," spoke the Southerner, with a sigh of relief. "But she hasn't stopped rising," he added, as he looked at the stick-gauge. "Too much water up above," and he nodded in the direction whence the boys had come, down the stream. "It'll be days before she goes down."
As soon as it was light enough, Blake and Joe got out a moving picture camera, and began
