"Rain, you silly."
"Oh, is that all?"
"Yes, what did you think it was?"
"I—I thought it was a tornado," answered the fat boy sleepily. "Goodness, it is coming down, at that!"
"I should say it is. At this rate we'll all get wet feet."
"We're lucky if we don't get more than our feet wet," returned Chunky. "I'm sleepy." In the next breath Stacy was snoring.
Tad lay quiet, watching the rain drown out the campfire that was now steaming and throwing off great clouds of fog. Soon there would be nothing left of their big campfire but the blackened, ill-smelling embers. The others evidently had not been awakened by the rain, or, if they had, they had not aroused themselves to discuss it as had Stacy and Tad. Little by little Tad dropped off, but it seemed as if he had no more than closed his eyes when he was awakened by the voice of Ichabod.
"Hey, Boss, Ah reckon, sah, you'd bettah pull in youah feet, sah. They's in de wet, sah."
Tad's feet, which had somehow got thrust out under the side of the tent, were in a puddle of water more than ankle deep. But so warm was the water and so soundly had he slept that the boy was wholly unconscious of his condition. Tad found, upon drawing in his feet, that they were not any too clean either. The black muck of the forest had smeared them.
"Have you any clean water, Ichabod?" he asked.