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 tique planter when somebody cried out from beside their barge.

“Levee's breaking! Levee's breaking!” a cry that stayed every hand, and stilled the throbbing of every heart.

“Levee's breaking!”

At that appalling shout their organized forces became a mob; the clocklike machine fell apart, while terrified men dropped everything and rushed to view the calamity. Whites and blacks came bounding up the slope. Some ran for the woods. Others stopped them. Mr. Brookfield looked over the gunwale, and his face went even paler as he saw what had occurred. To Jessica it seemed a very tiny crack, an almost imperceptible fissure that had opened on the levee's crest. But to an experienced eye it showed that the interior of their levee had caved. Its water-soaked foundations were melting—possibly from the sand boil—and the crown must fall. Then those mountainous waters would go roaring through the crevasse and overwhelm the lands.

Among the panicky mass that surged round the fissure, Jessica caught sight of Furlong. Her eyes met his. For the first time, and subconsciously, she began to understand. He had looked just like that on the night when he came home from France, and with shining eyes had told her what his comrades had accomplished. This huge embankment was Furlong's work, his accomplishment; it must mot be destroyed. The fullness of it all, the thrill of it came to Jessica, the sense of being alive, being a part of something real, and a glorious pride in Furlong's manhood when he raised his hand and shouted: “Listen, men!”

Every voice hushed; all eyes looked to him for guidance and for courage.

“Listen, men! We are going to hold this levee. Back to your places.”

Jessica's grip tightened on Mr. Brookfield's arm as she witnessed a marvel. By the power of one soul unafraid, out of panic came assurance, out of chaos came order. Magically the scattered parts of their machine fell together; the same file of sack bearers went trudging down the hill, and shovels grated methodically om the barge's floor.

“Colonel Clancy!” Furlong wheeled upon his superior, and Jessica heard him speak in a rush. “Kerrigan's quarter boat lies three miles below: us, on the other side. I need it here, with every foot of lumber, every sack and every man. Your steamer must go get it. If Kerrigan's tug is available he can do the towing, and you need not return. Hurry, colonel.”

Between these two men who realized the extremity of peril, there were no petty punctilios of rank, and very few words, before Clancy understood what was wanted, and waved for his guests to follow.

“All my crowd to the boat,” his big voice rose. “Everybody aboard. Where is Miss Faison?”

“Here!” Jessica answered roll call, then laid her lips close to Mr. Brookfield's ear and promised, “Never mind what he says. I'm coming back. Don't let anybody else have my job.”

From the barge to the levee the gangplanks were jammed with men. Impatient Jessica couldn't wait her turn, but planted a foot on the barge's gunwale and leaped for shore. It was a broader jump than she thought. Tottering, she gained the levee's brink where Furlong threw an arm around her, only for a moment, one of those luminous moments that make all things clear.

“I'm sorry, Jess,” he whispered. “When you first came, I”

“Don't worry about me. I understand you—now.” Her eyes were all ashine with the joy of comprehension as she left Furlong to his task, and ran.

In the swiftness of her flight, Jessica distanced a field of puffing senators, and left the long-legged congressmen far behind her. Two dense black columns were already pouring upward from the steamer's smokestacks. She sprang aboard, raced through the cabin, flung a few things into her trunk, and had slammed down the lid when she heard Colonel Clancy give the order, “Get under way.”

A bell jangled. Deck hands were pulling in their stage plank; and before anybody could stop her, before anybody knew what she meant to do, a white figure flashed along the lower deck and Jessica leaped ashore.

“Oh, colonel! Colonel Clancy!” she yelled back. “Please throw down my trunk—little black trunk. In my stateroom.”

“Get aboard, Miss Faison!” the colonel ordered. “We are leaving.”

“Go on,” she answered. “Throw down my trunk.”

Wheels began to revolve, and the steamer was trembling when Senator Rutherford first sighted Jessica standing on the levee. He leaned over the guards and beckoned wildly.