Then came the rain, falling in sheets, the drenching torrent of a summer thunder-shower. In spite of the foliage, the wet began to penetrate the wigwam; Sibyl, who sat on the outside of the huddled circle, felt the drops on her shoulder through her light dress. "Take this coat, Miss Warrington," said Mr. Leslie, stooping down and parting the branches. "Oh no!" replied Sibyl; "you need it more than I do." But the coat was thrown around her, and Mr. Leslie was gone before she could remonstrate. At last, after half an hour, the fury of the storm was over, but the rain still fell steadily. "I am afraid it will not clear immediately," said Mr. Leslie, coming to the wigwam entrance; "I have been down to the lake, and the sky looks as though we should have a wet night." "How dark it is!" said Aunt Faith; "What time is it?" "Half-past seven," said Mr. Leslie, looking at his watch. "Oh, how shall we ever get home?" sighed Edith Chase. "We had better start immediately, I think," said Mr. Gay; "it will be very unpleasant to ride in the darkness as well as in the rain." "And the horses!" said Lida Powers; "I hope they will be quiet. That black was inclined to dance a little when we came out." "Now, ladies!" said Mr. Leslie, coming towards the wigwam again, "I have been up on the plateau; the horses are ready, and the sooner we start the better, as more black clouds are gathering in the west. Mrs. Sheldon, let me help you up the bank." "Oh, Mr. Leslie, how wet you are!" exclaimed Aunt Faith, as she emerged from the wigwam. "Where is your coat?" "Miss Warrington has it," he replied; "I made her take it." "Here it is, Mr. Leslie," said Sibyl, stepping from under cover. "Keep it, Sibyl," said the clergyman in a low tone. "It gives me pleasure to see you protected." "It is still raining steadily, I perceive," said Graham Marr, peeping out from the sheltering branches; "don't you think we had better remain here awhile longer, ladies?" "The rain won't wash us away, Graham," said his cousin Rose. "It washes out dyes, however? and shows us all in our true colors," whispered Bessie to Lida Powers. "Look at Graham! He looks like a faded ray!" "He always was a fair-weather piece of goods," answered Lida; "high color, you know, don't stand soaking." Reaching the wagon, the company climbed inside, the cushions had been kept dry, but the floor was wet, and the rain still fell with the persistence that betokens what farmers call a "steady soaker." Edith Chase sat with Aunt Faith at the rear end of the wagon, but Bessie in Edith's old place, felt her spirits rising with every plunge of the restless leaders. "Do you think you can manage them, Hugh?" she whispered, just before they started.