Harry loosed a tent flap and looked out. “The sun’s shining,” he said, “but the west is full of clouds and looks like a shower.” “Well, let’s not hurry about getting up. If we take the noon train for Boston we shan’t get home much before midnight, and we may as well take it easy now.” They continued napping. Half an hour later a gloom as of approaching night settled down over the landscape, and there was a threatening grumble of thunder in the skies. The waterfall in the hollow took on a strange wailing note, rising and falling with the wind, and the rustling of the leaves of the near woods seemed full of premonitions. The air began to cool and little puffs of wind began to blow, and the boys turned out and poked around getting breakfast. Then came some great scattering drops of rain, followed by a mighty crash of thunder and a dazzling flash of lightning that seemed to open the flood-gates of heaven, and the rain came down in sheets. The air took on a sharp chill, and the boys got on their overcoats. The wind increased in force and shook the tent menacingly with its mad gusts. The flashing of the lightning and the heavy roll of the thunder were almost continuous, and through it all sounded the hollow mourning of the waterfall. “I tell you,” said Harry, as he sat crouched on a roll of bedding, “I haven’t much confidence in our mansion for such occasions as this.” [Illustration: A DESERTED HUT IN THE WOODS] He had hardly spoken when something gave way, and down came the tent, smothering him in wet canvas. It was some moments before the two could disentangle themselves. They made unsuccessful attempts to repair the wreck, but finally had to be content to prop up the ridge-pole so that it would shed the rain from their belongings, while they secured an umbrella and scud through the storm to the house, which they reached half drenched. “The young one” was sitting by the kitchen window. Her eyes were dilated and she looked frightened. She had her hands folded idly in her lap. That was unusual, for she was ordinarily very busy. “You don’t like these thunder-storms, do you?” said Harry. Oh, she didn’t mind them, she answered. “Where’s your father?” Harry asked. “He went off down to the village before I got up. I guess he was going to get some flour.” “Then you’ve been all alone in this storm,” Harry said. She did not reply. A fire was burning in the stove, and the campers hung their wet overcoats behind it, and themselves drew chairs to the stove and sat with their feet on the hearth. On the table was a pile of unwashed dishes. From the large room next to the kitchen came the sound of dripping water. There was a great pool on the floor in one place, and two or three pans were set about to catch the streams trickling through the ceiling. [Illustration: CHARCOAL KILNS] “This side of the roof always leaks when it rains hard,” said Birdie. “Papa’s going to fix it when he has time. I never seen it rain like it does to-day.”