'Mamma says it in the transparency of youthfulness. You know he has never been at school; so his thoughts come out in security of sympathy, without fear of being laughed at. But it is very late. Good night.'
The frost turned to rain the next morning, and the torrents streamed against the window, seeming to have a kind of attraction for Philip and Guy, who stood watching them.
Guy wondered if the floods would be out at Redclyffe and his cousins were interested by his description of the sudden, angry rush of the mountain streams, eddying fiercely along, bearing with them tree and rock, while the valleys became lakes, and the little mounds islets; and the trees looked strangely out of proportion when only their branches were visible. 'Oh! a great flood is famous fun,' said he.
'Surely,' said Philip, 'I have heard a legend of your being nearly drowned in some flood.
'Yes,' said Guy, 'I had a tolerable ducking.'
'Oh, tell us about it!' said Amy.
'Ay! I have a curiosity to hear a personal experience of drowning,' said Charles. 'Come, begin at the beginning.'
'I was standing watching the tremendous force of the stream, when I saw an unhappy old ram floating along, bleating so piteously, and making such absurd, helpless struggles, that I could not help pulling off my coat and jumping in after him. It was very foolish, for the stream was too strong--I was two years younger then. Moreover, the beast was very heavy, and not at all grateful for any kind intentions, and I found myself sailing off to the sea, with the prospect of a good many rocks before long; but just then an old tree stretched out its friendly arms through the water; it stopped the sheep, and I caught hold of the branches, and managed to scramble up, while my friend got entangled in them with his wool'-'Omne quum Proteus pecus egit altos Visere montes,' quoted Philip.
'Ovium et summa, genus haesit ulmo,' added Guy.
'Ovium,' exclaimed Philip, with a face of horror. 'Don't you know that O in Ovis is short? Do anything but take liberties with Horace!'
'Get out of the tree first, Guy,' said Charles, 'for at present your history seems likely to end with a long ohone!'
'Well, Triton--not Proteus--came to the rescue at last,' said Guy, laughing; 'I could not stir, and the tree bent so frightfully with the current that I expected every minute we should all go together; so I had nothing for it but to halloo as loud as I could. No one heard but Triton, the old Newfoundland dog, who presently came swimming up, so eager to help, poor fellow, that I thought he would have throttled me, or hurt himself in the branches. I took off my handkerchief and threw it to him, telling him to take it to Arnaud, who I knew would understand it as a signal of distress.'