"When the rain first came it seemed as if my throat was parched dry with thirst, and now that water is to be had in abundance, all hands of us appear to have forgotten that we wanted a drink." "We might catch some of the water that is finding its way through the roof," Mistress Pemberton said as if such a possibility had never occurred to her before. "We can do better than that, mother dear. I'll go to the spring for a full bucket, and when it has been strained we shall have what will be an improvement on rainwater." "But possibly some of the enemy may be lurking outside," Mistress Harding said, becoming timorous once more, now that the imminent danger had passed. "Whoever has been out in the storm all this while will be harmless, aunt, for his musket would be filled with something other than powder," Mark replied with a laugh, and then he unbarred the door, surprised to find that it was only with difficulty he could make headway against the furious blasts. So powerful was the wind that it became necessary for Susan and Luke to unite their strength in order to close the door while Mark was absent, and when he returned with a brimming bucket of discolored water, the three had no little difficulty in putting the bars into place again. "It is the fiercest storm I ever saw!" Mark exclaimed as he dashed the rain-drops from his face. "We'll pray that the _Future Hopes_ is in a snug harbor, otherwise she will have to scud, for I don't believe they could heave her to." "Do you think there is any probability your father and uncle may be out in this tempest?" Mistress Pemberton asked, more anxious now for the safety of the absent ones then she previously had been concerning herself. "They are too good sailors, mother dear, to take many chances, and we had fair warning of this storm. If we hadn't been in such sore straits, there's no question but that we would have been prepared for it. I noticed the clouds gathering, but at the time thought only that it would be our misfortune, since we could not keep watch of the Indians. Close-reefed, and with plenty of sea-room, the _Future Hopes_ will ride out this gale without doing more harm to herself than the straining of a seam, perhaps." "The Frenchmen could not have had time to get their vessel under way," Mistress Pemberton said as if thinking aloud, and Mark sprang to his feet in excitement. "Of course they couldn't, and it is well for them if they didn't succeed in getting on board, for the craft never had been built that can ride at anchor to the eastward of the brook while the wind is so heavy. It would have been impossible to get under way, for she'd be on the rocks before her nose could be brought around into the wind!" "Do you suppose they are yet on the island?" "I think, unless all hands are good sailors, that they'd try to get on board, and that could have been done because the sea wouldn't grow heavy in an instant."