“We ain’t the first that has hid here,” said Mrs. McBirney looking around. “And likely we won’t be the last. No one but mountain folk knows about this place, and they ain’t telling. Make yourself to home Azalea, for this is where we’re going to stay till them friends of yours is tired of looking for us.” Azalea drew up nearer to the woman and hid her face against her bosom. “Why, what’s the matter, you little poor thing?” cried Mrs. McBirney. “You’re not minding a few little bats and spiders, be you? I’ll get them out in no time.” “No, no!” almost shrieked the girl. “Don’t touch them, please! They’ll fall down on us!” “Why, what’s this I hear?” demanded ma. “A girl that’s been plumb up against all kinds of trouble, getting scared at a few little beasties! You ain’t seeming no ways brave to me.” “But thousands of yellow spiders, ma’am! And hundreds of bats! All above our heads, too. I hate it! I just hate it.” “If it wasn’t for the storm, dear, we’d lie on the ground outside,” said Mrs. McBirney. “But there, there! It’s come, you see. We’ve got to stay here.” As she spoke the wild downpour of the rain could be heard, sweeping along over the mountain, and the next instant it was roaring about them. They could feel the spray of it dashing in from the outer chamber and here and there through crevices in the rock above them. They seemed terribly alone there on that mountain top in their resounding cavern, and Ma McBirney was not surprised that the girl who had gone through such fearful experiences that day should throw herself into her arms and weep. Mary McBirney held her close and soothed her with soft pattings and caresses. She couldn’t make her voice heard above the storm, but she knew there were other things besides words with which she could comfort the poor child. They were both very tired. Their limbs trembled from the long, hard climb and from the dread of the storm, and when Ma McBirney spread her great circular cape on the ground they were glad enough to lie down on it. They covered themselves with it too—even their heads, and after a little while, with the storm still bellowing without, they fell asleep. Jim and his father heard the uproar and turned in their beds and shivered. In fact, Jim couldn’t stand it in bed alone, but crept into his father’s room. “You reckon ma’s hid somewhere out of this?” Jim asked. “Sure!” cried pa, drawing Jim into bed beside him. “Sure she is. Her and that there girl is as dry as a bone somewhere, sitting laughing at all this fuss of rain.” But when Jim had fallen asleep, soothed by these words, Pa McBirney got up and walked the floor until morning. Then he cooked Jim’s breakfast and his own, and packed a basket with food. “We-all will be taking a little stroll,” he said. “Just hand me down my rifle, sonny. Maybe we might see something we’d like for dinner on the way.”