position.

In another place, grown sons were carrying an invalid mother, fleeing
with difficulty on account of their heavy burden. Some brave, humane men
hurried along with boats and brought them safely to the hill.

Mrs. Swift, with a child on each arm, was overthrown. Her husband,
equally burdened with two other children, could render her no
assistance. Two stalwart men rushed toward her, however, and brought
mother, children, and father to the neighboring hill.

Some men gathered sticks, and after many futile attempts at last started
a fire on the hill, so that the drenched people might dry themselves.

As Mrs. Swift, breathless and in a half-dazed condition, reached the
hill top, she looked at her children and uttered a loud cry: "Where is
my baby, where is my Edward?" The child--the baby--who had lain in a
cradle at the mother's bedside, was missing.

The water had rushed into the house in such volume that the cradle had
begun to move, and was carried along gradually by the force of the
water, till it passed out unnoticed through the open door. The mother
had tried to reach the cradle in the darkness; but, not finding it, she
had concluded that the father had taken the cradle and the baby to a
place of safety, and so she had given all her attention to the other
children. But now, discovering her mistake, she wrung her hands in grief
and cried pitifully. She started to return to her home to seize her
child from so dreadful a fate, but the father held her in his strong
arms.