It did not seem, however, as though the wind had any such intention. After Tubby Blaisdell departed it blew even stronger.
It was hard to keep the whole party in good temper. The imprisonment was getting on their nerves. Besides, the sky was growing darker, although it was not yet mid-afternoon; and not long after the fat youth was out of sight, heavy drops of rain began to fall.
Rather, the wind whipped the raindrops in at the tower window. Patter, patter, patter, they fell, faster and faster, and in the distance thunder rumbled.
The picnicking farmers should be home ahead of this storm; yet, if they came, they could not stop the sails of the windmill. The shaft groaned and smoked, but Dave kept the oil cups filled.
Nearer and nearer came the thunder, and the lightning began to flash. Some of the girls were frightened. Nor was this a pleasant place in which to be imprisoned during an electrical storm. The tall, revolving arms seemed just the things to attract the lightning.
They all were glad–boys as well as girls–to retire to the ground floor of the mill while the elements shrieked overhead and the rain pounded upon the roof and the sails. It was really a most unpleasant situation.
CHAPTER XXIII
WYN HITS SOMETHING
In the midst of the storm a voice hailed them from outside. Dave went to the doorway and saw–through the falling rain–Farmer Prosser, standing by his horses’ heads. He had just brought his family home from the picnic and they had scurried into the house.
“What are you doing in there?” demanded the farmer. “Can’t you stop the sails?”