“Castaways on a desert island!” Gale grumbled as they entered the club house. “I hope the place isn’t smashed under a tree.”
“I believe the thunder and lightning will let up in a little while,” Bruce declared, on his knees coaxing a flame into life in the dark fireplace.
“That feels good!” Gale shivered, holding her hands out to the blaze, after wrapping herself in a blanket. “How are we going to get home?”
“I don’t think we will—tonight,” Bruce said, frowning. “No one knows where we are for one thing. I’ll sleep in the canoe house on the cot tonight and you can have the bunk in here. Pleasant dreams!” and he was gone. He knew the struggle in the water had tired Gale and it was best to let her rest.
Gale listened to the whine of the wind and the slashing of rain against the frail walls of the club house and shivered. She was afraid, but she wouldn’t call Bruce. She remembered vividly the second when the earth had seemed torn apart when the tree was struck by lightning. Suppose one of the tall trees about the club house should fall? She and Bruce would be crushed by the weight of the walls and roof! Such thoughts were horrible and she endeavored to thrust them from her.
She was beginning to feel deliciously warm and cozy. Gale curled up on the bunk and watched the fire in the fireplace and listened to the rain. The rain was a lulling accompaniment to the crackling of the logs and before she knew it she was asleep.
Gale had no inkling of when the rain stopped. The next morning when she awakened and sat up the sun was streaming in through the open door and birds were chirping outside.
“Bruce!” Gale called, but there was no answer.
She looked into the adjoining canoe house, but it was empty. Outside she looked about. The beach was empty as far as she could see.
“Bruce!” she called again.