the folk out o' the waterside hooses when I bid ye, wi' a' their gear and plenishing, or there'll no be sae muckle as a groat's worth left by nicht. Up wi' ye and haste, for there's nae time to lose. I heard the roar o' the water miles off, louder than ony thunderstorm and mair terrible than an army wi' banners. Quick, ye auld doited bodies, if ye dinna want to hae mourning and lamentation i' the toun o' Peebles."

At this, as you may believe, a great change passed over all. Some made no words about it, but rushed into the town to give the alarm; others stared stupidly as if waiting for more news; while some were disposed to treat the whole matter as a hoax. This enraged the newsbearer beyond telling. Springing up, he pointed to the western sky, and far off we saw a thick blackness creeping up the skyline.  "If ye'll no believe me," said he, "will ye believe the finger of God?"  The word and the sight convinced the most distrusting.

Now Tweed, unlike all other rivers of my knowledge, rises terribly at the first rain and travels slowly, so that Tweedsmuir may be under five feet of water and Peebles high and dry. This makes the whole valley a place of exceeding danger in sultry weather, for no man knows when a thunderstorm may break in the hills and send the stream down a raging torrent. This, too, makes it possible to hear word of a flood before it comes, and by God's grace to provide against it.

The green was soon deserted. I rushed down to the waterside houses, which were in the nearest peril, and in shorter time than it takes to tell, we had the people out and as much of their belongings as were worth the saving; then we hastened to the low-lying cottages on Tweed Green and did likewise. Some of the folk seemed willing to resist, because, as they said, "Whae kenned but that the body micht be a leear and they werena to hae a' this wark for naething?"  For the great floods were but a tradition, and only the old men had seen the ruin which the spate could work. Nevertheless, even these were convinced by a threatening sky and a few words from the newsbearer's trenchant tongue. Soon the High Street and the wynds were thick with household belongings, and the Castle Hill was crowded with folk to see the coming of the flood.

By this time the grim line of black had grown over half the sky, and down fell great drops of rain into the white, sun-baked channel. It was strange to watch these mighty splashes falling into the little stagnant pools and the runlets of flowing water. And still the close, thick heat hung over all, and men looked at the dawnings of the 

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