“In with you!” he cried to an accompaniment of delighted barks from Jack, and they found themselves in the studio, panting and laughing and dripping. “Just in time,” said their host as he put his weight against the door and swung it shut. As if in explanation, a sudden gust of wind burst against the boat, making the windows rattle in their frames and the timbers creak. With the wind came a blinding wall of rain that darkened the little room as though sudden twilight had fallen. The great drops ran down the panes in tiny rivulets and on the island side it was impossible to see a thing. The sound of wind and rain was for a moment deafening. Then the wind died down for a moment and a mighty crash of thunder sent Jack cowering to his master. “Glad I’m on the leeward side of this island of yours,” said the artist. “It must be pretty rough on the other side.” “Gee!” exclaimed Chub. “The tent, fellows!” They looked at each other in consternation. Then Dick whistled, Roy smiled, and Chub burst into a peal of laughter. “I’ll bet a hat it’s gone home,” he said. “The wind would just about carry it toward the boat-house.” “Oh, maybe it hasn’t any more than blown down,” said Dick. “We made those ropes good and tight. I’ll bet our things will be good and soppy, though.” “And I left my bag open!” mourned Chub. “Well, there’s no use in worrying,” said Mr. Cole cheerfully. “Get your wet coats off, boys. You don’t want to catch cold!” “I’m afraid we’re disturbing you,” said Roy glancing at a canvas on the easel. “Not you, the storm,” was the answer. “I can’t work in this light. Suppose we go forward to the sitting-room and make ourselves comfortable?” He led the way through the engine-room, remarking as they passed the engine: “Noon fixed her up for me the other day and I guess she’s all ready to move on when I am.” In the sitting-room Chub went to a window on the river side. “Gee,” he exclaimed, “I never saw the Inner Channel cutting up like this! Come, look, Roy.” It certainly did look tempestuous. The shore was almost hidden in the smother of rain. The river which an hour before had been like a mill-pond, was a gray-green waste of tumbling waves. “I wouldn’t care to go out there in the canoe now,” said Roy. “We might have some music,” observed Mr. Cole, “but I don’t believe we could much more than hear it.” As though to prove the truth of his assertion there came a dazzling flash of lightning and a burst of thunder that shook the boat until the china danced on the kitchen shelves. “_Thunder!_” exclaimed Chub involuntarily. “And lightning,” added Dick. “Well,” said Mr. Cole, “find seats, boys, and be as comfortable as you can. This can’t last very long; it’s too severe. As long as the cables hold us to the shore we’re all right.”