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. It is needless to say that
the Crambry family was on hand, for whatever instincts they may have lacked,
the instinct for being on the spot when anything was happening, was present in
them to the most remarkable extent. The town was supporting them in modest
winter quarters somewhat nearer than Killick to the center of civilization,
and the first alarm brought them promptly to the scene, Mrs. Crambry remarking
at intervals: "If I'd known there'd be so many out I'd ought to have worn my
bunnit; but I ain't got no bunnit, an' if I had they say I ain't got no head
to wear it on!"

By the time the jam neared the falls it had grown with its accumulations,
until it was made up of tier after tier of huge ice cakes, piled side by side
and one upon another, with heaps of trees and branches and drifting lumber
holding them in place. Some of the blocks stood erect and towered like
icebergs, and these, glittering in the lights of the twinkling lanterns,