“It is not near so high in the roof,” says Rupert, who has given his tall head a severe thump. It is certainly low of roof and damp of floor, this house of Nature’s providing; but, despite these drawbacks, it is as excellent a shelter from storm as the heart of a wayfarer could desire. Over part of the ledge which forms the cave the stream pours in the perpendicular fall already mentioned, then the rock sweeps round parallel to the bed of the river, and under this we have taken refuge. The bottom is covered with large fragments of stone that have fallen from above, and on these we perch, taking care to keep our feet from the water which is everywhere. Meanwhile, the rain is pouring in white torrents, the lightning is flashing, and above the tumult of the fall we hear the thunder rolling and rattling overhead. “Is not this delightful?” cries Sylvia, appealing to the company. “Would you miss it for anything?” “I should like exceedingly to miss it,” replies Mrs. Cardigan, holding up her dress and looking thoroughly out of humor. “I can see nothing delightful in sitting here, for who can say how long.” “Not for very long,” says Eric. “The storm is too violent to last. It will be fair in an hour.” “An hour is a considerable time to spend in this manner,” says Mr. Lanier, dusting his fingers, which show signs of contact with the rocks. “It is a desirable thing to be a philosopher,” says Charley, seating himself on a pile of stones and regarding the falling rain with an expression of complacency. “I am a philosopher. It is a matter of small moment to me how long the rain lasts. I am ready to sit here till dark, or to ride home through it. Meanwhile, can’t we have a game of whist?” This proposal is received with favor, but, since nobody has thought of bringing a pack of cards, falls to the ground. There is nothing to be done but to possess our souls in patience, to talk idly, to shiver slightly in the damp air, and wonder when the storm will end. As soon as it abates, Charley and Mr. Brandon go out on a ledge by the side of the river to take an observation of the sky. They return in a moist condition, and report another cloud coming over. “At this rate,” says Mrs. Cardigan, “when _shall_ we get away?” In a few moments the cloud comes over as prophesied, and the rain pours again in torrents. The stream begins to swell, as mountain-streams do in the shortest possible time; and we notice that the fall increases in volume. “Perhaps we shall be overflowed,” Rupert cheerfully suggests. “That would be a jolly adventure.” The second storm is of short duration. Presently the rain ceases, and a flash of sunshine lights up leaping water, gray rocks, and green hillsides. “How delicious!” says Sylvia. “What a glittering scene! Let us go out where we can see it.”