"So am I," said Fred. "And we'll hide these boats—eh?"
"Sure," agreed Sparrow Bangs. "I know a dandy place right down at the edge of Monckton's farm. They wouldn't find them in a week of Sundays in the mouth of that creek."
The rain had begun to fall before the boys reached the shore. It was a lashing, dashing rain, with plenty of thunder and the sharpest kind of lightning. Several of the Rockledge boys were afraid of thunder and lightning, but they all took shelter in an old tobacco barn—the farmers of the Connecticut Valley raise a certain quality of tobacco.
For an hour the storm continued. Then the thunder died away, and the rain ceased. By that time it was almost dark, and the boys stood a good chance of being belated for supper.
They hid the stolen boats and went home in their own. As they rowed steadily down the edge of the lake, they looked out across the darkening water to the island, and did not see a spark of light there.
"Maybe they haven't a match," said Bobby, suddenly, after a little silence.
"I should hope not!" snapped Fred.
"Anyway, there's no dry wood after this rain," said his chum.
"Good!" repeated the red-haired one.
"They're going to have a mighty bad time," ruminated Bobby. Fred only grunted, and Bobby fell silent.