On a certain gray Saturday
in March, after a week of mild temperature, it began to rain as if, after
months of snowing, it really enjoyed a new form of entertainment. Sunday
dawned with the very flood-gates of heaven opening, so it seemed. All day long
the river was rising under its miles of unbroken ice, rising at the
threatening rate of four inches an hour.
Edgewood went to bed as usual that night, for the bridge at that point was set
too high to be carried away by freshets, but at other villages whose bridges
were in less secure position there was little sleep and much anxiety.
At midnight a cry was heard from the men watching at Milliken's Mills. The
great ice jam had parted from Rolfe's Island and was swinging out into the
open, pushing everything before it. All the able-bodied men in the village
turned out of bed, and with lanterns in hand began to clear the stores and
mills, for it seemed that everything near the river-banks must go before that
avalanche of ice.
Stephen and Rufus were there helping to save the property of their friends and
neighbors; Rose and Mite Shapley had stayed the night with a friend, and all
three girls were shivering with fear and excitement as they stood near the
bridge, watching the never-to-be-forgotten sight.
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