“We’ll have to make a grand drying-day,” remarked Miss Phillips. “But there doesn’t seem to be any good place to pitch our tents.”
She looked around anxiously, but the banks on either side of the stream were sharply and thickly covered with trees. Suddenly she realized how still everything was; not a leaf was stirring, not a bird was singing. The girls, too, were absolutely quiet, as if awed by some approaching calamity. She glanced nervously at the sky; the sun was still shining brightly, but a glistening white cloud was rapidly rising out of the east, and increasing in size as it advanced higher into the heavens. A moment later, the sun was temporarily obscured. A distant rumble was heard. There was no doubt about it now; a heavy thunderstorm was approaching.
“We’ll never get dry!” said Lily, dolefully. “Oh, Ruth, aren’t you getting sort of cold? And with nothing but wet sweaters to put on——”
“Here’s mine!” offered Alice, handing her sweater to Lily. “And I’ll get Flo’s for you, Ruth.”
“Thanks!” murmured both girls, gratefully.
“Girls,” said Miss Phillips, “I have decided not to attempt to put up tents now. Do you see that barn over there? I think we had better take out our bags and blankets, and turn our canoes upside down and make for shelter. Whoever owns it surely wouldn’t put us out in the storm.”
“Suits me to the ground!” said Lily.
When Marjorie unbarred the bolt of the heavy wooden door, the first big drops of rain were falling from the black cloud overhead. The rusty hinges creaked, and the door swung open, revealing an empty interior of huge proportions. The divisions of the stalls were still standing, and the floor of the loft was covered with straw. Although the place was deserted, everything was neat and clean.
“I’m just as glad we don’t have to share our quarters with horses,” said Alice.
“Or cows!” added Ruth.