“I know. That's this one,” she agreed. “But, it's awful.”
“Say! Can you point out that tree that smoked?” asked Tom.
“Goodness! It can't be smoking now,” gasped Nan, stifled with rain and laughter. “This storm would put out Vesuvius.”
“Don't know him,” retorted her cousin. “But it'd put most anybody out, I allow. Still, fire isn't so easy to quench. Where's the tree?”
“I can't see it, Tom,” declared Nan, with her eyes tightly closed. She really thought he was too stubborn. Of course, if there had been any fire in that tree-top, this rain would put it out in about ten seconds. So Nan believed.
“Look again, Nan,” urged her cousin. “This is no funning. If there's fire in this swamp.”
“Goodness, gracious!” snapped Nan. “What a fuss-budget you are to be sure, Tom. If there was a fire, this rain would smother it. Oh! Did it ever pelt one so before?”
Fortunately the rain was warm, and she was not much discomforted by being wet. Tom still clung to the idea that she had started in his slow mind.
“Fire's no funning, I tell you,” he growled. “Sometimes it smoulders for days and days, and weeks and weeks; then it bursts out like a hurricane.”
“But the rain”