John fastened them all in with ropes, and then fastened himself. Charlie slept in the middle; they cuddled up together, and were as warm as toast. The trees on the island had already parted with most of their leaves, but the maple, standing in a sheltered spot, retained its foliage.
The limbs of the great tree swayed gently in the westerly breeze, and the moonbeams came slanting through them most delightfully, as the boys lay listening to the moan of the night wind, the sound of the surf along the shore, and watched the clouds as they coursed by the moon, all heightened by the novelty of their situation.
“I’m glad we did it,” said Charlie; “I had no idea it would be so nice.”
Fred wished he could be a bird, and always live in the tree-tops. The swaying of the branches communicated to their couch a motion exceedingly pleasant, which, rousing a long-slumbering association in Charlie’s mind, he struck up the old ditty,—
“Hushaby, baby, on the tree-top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,” &c.
But after twelve o’clock the wind changed to south-east; clouds obscured the moon; and, while the boys were quietly sleeping, a gust of wind struck the tree, covering them with showers of leaves, while the rain dashed in sheets upon their faces. Waking in alarm, they found themselves enveloped in midnight darkness, pelted with rain, and their couch quivering in the gale. Covering their heads with the bed-clothes, they took counsel in the emergency. Fred and Charlie were alarmed and anxious, but John, whose spirits always rose with danger, seemed very much at his ease.
“What shall we do?” said Fred.
“Stay where we are,” replied John; “at any rate till the blankets wet through.”