"The dam burst!" cried little Willy Bloggs, running into the farmhouse. Naturally we all ran for the back door to get to the stable and it took some talking before he managed to get his point across and by that time the water was running past the kitchen window.
"By gar and by scrumbag," I said, "this is an awful pickle. --Mabel, fetch me another, will you?"
"Kosher?" she said.
"Bless you," I said. "Let's get on up to the roof, shall we?"
We found the horses milling around in the upstairs bedroom; I can't imagine how they'd managed to get up the stairs without us noticing. Had they been there all night? It appeared so, for the dam had in fact gone and foaled in Mama's bed and you can be sure she was not happy about that.
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