"What a lonesome, eerie sort of a place," shivered Helen. "Wish the old car had kept running——"
"Through the rain?" suggested Ruth, pointing outside, where the air was already gray with approaching moisture.
Down from the higher hills the storm was sweeping. They could smell it, for the wind leaped in at the broken windows and rustled the shreds of paper still clinging to the walls of the dining-room.
"This isn't a fit place to eat in," grumbled Helen.
"Let's go above stairs. Carry that alcohol stove carefully, dear. We'll have a nice cup of tea, even if it does——"
"Oh!" shrieked Helen, as a long streak of lightning flew across their line of vision.
"Yes. Even in spite of that," repeated Ruth, smiling, and raising her voice that she might be heard above the cannonade of thunder.
"I don't like it, I tell you!" declared her chum.
"I can't say that I do myself, but I do not see how we are to help it."
"I wish Tom was inside here, too."