# The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 13

CHAPTER XIII
LOOKING FOR MOTHER
"Look out!"
"Make for the boat!"
"Grab up the boy!"
"Lively, or it will be too late!"
Thus exclaiming, the rescuers made their hurried way toward the window, near which the boat was tied. Mr. Ringold had caught up Charlie House, as they had elected to call him, and, with the child in his arms, was given the right of way—that is, the others stood aside, and let the manager get to the window first.
Luckily the turning of the house was slow, and by a chance swirl of the current, the motor boat had been swung broadside to the window.
Also the tilting of the house was in the direction of that side where was the window by which they had entered, so that the upper part, corresponding to the sill, was nearer to the water, so they could more easily get over it, and into the Clytie.
​In an instant Mr. Ringold had leaped into the boat and moved back out of the way, to make space for the others.
"Go ahead, boys!" cried Mr. Piper, as he stood to one side in the house, near the window, and waited for Blake and Joe.
"No, you go!" insisted Blake.
"Come on—don't argue! She's going to turn over again!" cried Mr. Ringold, and then the gloomy comedian fairly thrust, first Joe, and then Blake, through the window, from which the sash had been broken. The moving picture actor followed an instant later, and not a second too soon.
"Cut the rope!" yelled the manager, who was holding Charlie. The boy was crying again, probably from fright.
With one stroke of his keen-bladed knife, Blake severed the cable, and the boat drifted away from the house.
And, no sooner was the craft free than, amid a great swirl of the waters, the dwelling turned right-side up again, the furniture and kitchen utensils inside falling from ceiling to floor with a crash.
So big was the wave caused by this righting of the house that the Clytie was nearly swamped She bobbed about on the swell, and went nearly ​over. But she was a well balanced craft, and, after a bit, rode on an even keel once more.
"Narrow escape, that," said Mr. Ringold, solemnly, as he tried to comfort Charlie. The little lad was sobbing:
"I wants my mamma, I does! I wants my mamma! I want to go home!"
"We'll take you home, and to your mamma, as soon as we can," promised the manager, soothingly. "But don't you want to sleep in this nice boat, to-night? And see, I'll make the choo-choo engine go for you. Won't that be nice?"
"Yes," answered Charlie, now, smiling through his tears.
The motor was set going, and, as the house drifted on down stream, upright once more, and freed from the sandbar on which it had stranded, the motor boat was steered toward the big oak tree, where she was to be tied for the night.
Charlie House was so interested now, in the working of the machinery, and the various novel sights aboard the motor craft, that he forgot his loneliness. Blake spread him some bread and jam, and this completed the temporary happiness of the poor little waif.
Later he was given more supper, which he ate with a fine appetite, showing that he must ​have been without food for some time. There was a spare bunk on the Clytie, and Charlie, the traces of his tears washed away, was soon sleeping comfortably in this.
"What are we going to do?" asked Blake, when the others sat in the small cabin that night, talking over the situation.
"Well, we've got to try to locate his mother; of course," said Mr. Ringold. "I'll have a talk with him in the morning, and see if I can't find out from what town or city it was his house was carried away. He ought to know where he lived, even if he doesn't recall his own name. And that may come to him by daylight. We'll just let him sleep now, and get some ourselves."
"For we've got a lot of work ahead of us," commented C. C. Piper.
"Going to stand watch and watch to-night?" asked Blake.
"I don't see any need of it," answered Mr. Ringold. "We are out of the way of the main flood here, and, even if the river does rise, we'll be all right. I think we'll all go to bed."
The night was a rather restless one for all save Charlie House. The little chap slept through it all, though about midnight the river began to rise again, as those aboard the boat could tell by her motions. But they were ​moored with a long cable, and it would need a great lift to put them in danger.
"Did my mamma come?" asked Charlie, as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning.
"No, but she'll be here soon, I hope," said Blake, who was near the bunk of the small chap. Charlie's eyes filled with tears.
"Come on, and see me get breakfast," urged Joe, who was willing to do his share in providing amusement for the little fellow. "I'll show you how to make flap-jacks," he went on.
"What's flap-jacks?" asked Charlie, interested at once.
"Well, maybe your mamma calls them griddle-cakes—or pancakes," said Blake.
"Oh, I love pancakes!" Charlie exclaimed, and the danger of a crying spell was over, for the time being, at least.
With prepared flour, Joe mixed up a batter, and soon the cakes were browning on a greased griddle, on the gasoline stove. There was maple syrup to eat on them, and with hot coffee for the older ones, there was served a meal anyone might have enjoyed.
"We're having it too easy," complained Blake, as he took a third helping of cakes. "It seems as though, in a flood like this, we ought to be eating hard tack."
​"Well, we may come to that yet," said Joe, with a sigh. And it was not long after that when they recalled this talk, at a time when indeed they would have given much for even some hard tack.
But matters were propitious enough now, and, after the morning meal, the boat was started off again on her now double quest.
"I think the best plan for us to follow," said Mr. Ringold, when they were heading into the main river, "will be to stop at the first town we come to, and make inquiries, both about our friends, and Charlie's mother. I'll question him and see if he knows where he used to live."
But Charlie's memory was either very faulty, or the events of the flood had driven all recollection from his mind. All he could say was that he lived "home" with his papa and mamma, and he wanted them both, though, for the time, he was willing to stay with his new friends, and watch the "choo-choo" engine.
"But what did your father do?" asked Blake, thinking they might get some clew, if they knew his occupation.
"He works," said Charlie, contentedly. "He works for mamma and me."
"And you don't know where you lived?" inquired C. C.
"I lived home," was all Charlie would say. ​"Then it rained, and mamma and papa took a lot of things out of our house, over to grandma's house. Grandma lives on a hill."
"They must have moved their valuables out when they saw the flood rising," commented Joe.
"What happened after that?" asked Blake.
"It rained," said Charlie, simply. "Mamma and papa took more things over to grandma's, and I went to sleep. When I woke up it was all dark, and my bed was crooked. I guess I fell out of my bed," he added.
"That was when the house went upside-down, I guess he means," suggested Mr. Ringold. "I can imagine what happened," he went on, in a low tone, as the boy went to the after rail to watch the debris floating by. "His folks began carrying out their valuables, and left him in the house. They made one trip too many, and the house was carried away, and upset. Charlie was in it, and he stayed in it until we rescued him. Now we've just got to trust to luck to find his folks."
They were fairly out on the flooded Mississippi again, and from the manner in which they were tossed about, and swirled this way and that, it could easily be guessed that the river had been augmented during the night, and that more rain had fallen along the upper water-shed.
​They stopped, about noon, at a small village, partly under water, and, while Joe and Blake made some pictures, Mr. Ringold and C. C. inquired for any word of the missing players, and for news of Charlie's folks. To send off any telegrams proved out of the question.
So many families had been separated, and so many mothers were looking for lost children, as well as children inquiring for missing parents, that no progress was made.
However, Charlie House seemed contented enough now, with his new friends. He was much better off than in the upside-down house, for he was comfortable and had enough to eat. He had been rescued only just in time, too, for he probably would have been killed, or at least severely injured, when the dwelling righted itself again.
The work of saving their belongings was being undertaken by many of the people of the village where our friends stopped, and scenes of this were filmed by the moving picture boys. Work was also in progress on a hastily-constructed levee, in an endeavor to prevent the whole of the town from being washed away.
Once more the rescue party was off. There was more danger now, as there was still more ​debris coming down the big, muddy water, and several times the boat was nearly struck by a floating house, or barn.
"We've got to keep a sharp lookout!" decided Mr. Ringold. "It won't do to be swamped—there'd be no getting ashore in this flood. Keep your eyes open, boys!"
With one in the stern and another at the bow, taking turns, the rescuers did all they could to prevent the boat from being damaged, by fending off logs and heavy driftwood.
The day wore on, and though they stopped at several other towns, in a search for Charlie's mother, their quest was unsuccessful. Nor was anything heard of the missing players.
"Well, I guess we'll have to look for another stopping place for the night," remarked Mr. Ringold, late that afternoon. He was about to turn the wheel over to Joe, for a rest, when Blake, who was in the extreme bow, cried out:
"Quick! Put her over! We're going to ram a barn!"