there in the darkness and at any moment they felt the vessel might be torn from its moorings and carried away on the flood.
“We must jump!” cried Poor Cecco, and seizing Bulka by the paw he leapt ashore. Only just in time, for at that very moment the raft began to sink beneath their feet and was lost.
Bulka, who had never before been out in a storm at night, was afraid of the noise and darkness, and sobbed bitterly. To him it seemed that the whole world was sliding into the river, and they were about to perish miserably, in the wet and the cold. He lifted up his voice and wept, while Poor Cecco, still clutching his paw, dragged him up the bank to a place of safety.
Here, pressed close against a decaying tree-stump, they waited shivering until the worst of the storm had abated. Somewhere they must seek warmth and shelter, but where?
“You stay here,” said Poor Cecco, “while I go out and see what can be done.”
But Bulka would not hear of this; he was far too frightened and miserable. So paw in paw the two ventured out together into the unknown darkness.
The earth was sticky and muddy; it clung in lumps to their feet, and there were deep sloshy puddles everywhere. The weeds grew high above their heads, a dense forest. It was impossible to see one’s way. The rain was still falling steadily.
