The great rick thus stood almost insulated, and much
further uprising of the flood would place it in a position not to be
approached by man without danger. Above the stack, distant about
five-and-twenty yards, stood a couple of stout pollarded willows, and by
these Uncle Chirgwin had decided to moor his hay, trusting that they might
hold the great mass of it secure even though the threatened flood swept
away its foundations. Nine figures worked amain, and to them approached a
tenth, appearing from the darkness, skirting the lake and splashing through
the streamlet which fed it. Mary Chirgwin it was who now arrived--a
grotesque figure with her gown and petticoats fastened high and wearing on
her legs a pair of her uncle's leather gaiters. Mary had been up to the
farm for more rope, but the clothesline was all that she could find, and
this she now returned with. Already three ropes had been passed round the
rick and made fast to the willows, but none among them was of great
stoutness, nor had they been tied at an elevation best calculated to resist
a possible strain. Amos Bartlett took the line from Mary and set to work
with many assistants; while the farmer himself, waving a torch and stumping
hither and thither, now directed Bartlett, now encouraged two men who
worked with all their might at the cutting of a trench from the lake in
order that this dangerous body of water might be drained back to the main
stream.
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