CHAPTER X
A Stormy Night
EVERY one had been too busy to think about the weather. But, when supper was on the table, Mrs. Crane noticed that Jean's dark hair had been blown about her face, that Henrietta's, too, was flying about in loose locks, and that the loose canvas at the doorway of the big tent was flapping noisily.
"Look at the lake!" cried Marjory. "It's all mussed up and queer, like something boiling. I hope Captain Berry got home safely."
"The wind is in his favor and he has had sufficient time. But that's a pretty angry sea—I guess Dave and I had better pull those boats to the top of the bank, after supper. We're going to have some waves that are waves before morning."
The lake, at that hour, however, was not so rough as it was threatening. Its surface was of a dark, dull slate-color, marked with long lines of deep blue and blackish purple. Some hidden force seemed to be lifting it from underneath as if, as Marjory said, it were boiling, or at least getting ready to boil. The sun had dropped behind the distant hills without leaving the usual rose-pink afterglow. Overhead, dark clouds were scurrying toward the southwest; but as yet the waves had not gathered sufficient strength to be very noisy. The air was colder; and that, too, seemed filled with hidden threats and half-whispered warnings.
"I'm thankful," said Mr. Black, carving more roasted chicken for Bettie, who said that all fowls should have had eight legs apiece, "that we have good, sound tents to sleep in to-night and that Captain Berry knew how to put them up so they'd stay. After we've pulled the boat up, Dave and I will see if any of the ropes need tightening. There is one thing that everybody must remember. If it rains, you must not touch the canvas—that makes it leak."
It was too windy for a fire on the beach that night, so the castaways, in their warm sweaters, sat round the dining-room table, and, by the light of the big lamps enjoyed the magazines that Mr. Saunders had thoughtfully included. They were particularly interested in the advertisements of tents, boats, and other camp-y things.
Just as Bettie was certain that her eyes would not stay open a single moment longer, there was a loud crash near at hand.
"Now what?" cried startled Mrs. Crane, who was hemming some of the queer dish-toweling that inexperienced Mr. Saunders had been obliged to select, "is that? Not thunder, I hope."