All looked towards the west, and saw that a storm was almost upon them. The black clouds piling up were certainly ominous; the breeze was getting stiffer every minute; the lake was getting rougher.
“Well boys we’re caught!” Stephen said gravely. Poor boy! all his mirth had forsaken him.
But it was now convenient for George to remember that he had prognosticated a storm; and, forgetting the incident of the “disguised” sailor, he exclaimed, “Yes Steve, we’re in a tight place. But I was right about the storm, boys.”
Steve was too much flurried to remind the boy that he had arrived at a different conclusion, scouted the idea of a storm, and determined to accompany them.
“Well, boys,” said Marmaduke, “this is a storm at sea: let us enjoy it while it lasts.”
“No, Marmaduke, let us be thankful that it is not a storm at sea,” Will replied. “As for enjoying it, that would be pretty hard work. Don’t you know that we are in danger?”
“O dear! what will become of us!” Jim groaned.
The shock was wearing off now; and Charley found courage to ask, jocularly, “Is that all you have to say, Marmaduke? I expected something better from you.”
Steve put in promptly, though he was still very much discomposed: “Oh, Marmaduke’s mouth is full of words; he’s only puzzling which to say first.”
“Look here, boys,” said the Sage, “how far astray was I about the weather?”