He always felt this way, even at home, when the air was charged with electricity. Many a time he could remember walking up and down a room, like a tiger in its cage, while the elements were holding high carnival without.
And while he believed that the scoutmaster would do all that lay in his power to get himself and comrades into some sort of shelter before the threatening storm broke over their heads, Step Hen saw no reason why he should not assist, as far as he could.
So he kept those sharp eyes of his on the constant watch, as he ran along at the side of the pace-maker.
Suddenly Step Hen gave a triumphant shout.
“Oh! look! look! here’s a good place for us to crawl in,” and he pointed to one side as he spoke.
There, as another bright flash lighted up the gloomy forest, Thad saw an enormous tree, easily the king of them all. Doubtless it out topped all its comrades, rearing its lofty head far above the best of them.
And yet old age had started in to demolish the monarch of the woods, beginning at the butt instead of the top. The giant tree was hollow. There yawned an aperture, surely large enough to hold the four scouts easily, if they chose to huddle together.
“And the hole is pretty well away from the track of the storm, so the rain ain’t agoin’ to beat in on us,” Step Hen went on.
“Do we crawl in, Thad?” asked Giraffe, showing by his manner that he was only too willing to comply, if the scoutmaster said the word.
But Thad and Allan exchanged a look, and each shook his head.