For half an hour the rain beat down in torrents. None of them remembered ever hearing such a deluge descend, but perhaps their imaginations were excited on account of the peculiar conditions that surrounded them. All the same it rained, and then rained some more, until a very large quantity of water must have fallen, all of them decided.
With Paul and Jack in the tent that was nearest to the lake were
Bobolink, Tom Betts and Nuthin.
"Seems to me it's gettin' kind of damp in here," remarked Bobolink, when the clamor outside had died down somewhat, and they could hear each other talk.
"That's a fact," declared Paul; "and after all it's just as well that we made sure our blankets and other things were tied up and hung away from the ground. But seems to me I hear one of the fellows in the boat shouting to us."
When he opened the flap he found that the rain had almost stopped, as well as the wind to a great extent. Perhaps the storm was over.
"Hello!" Paul called out.
"Hey! that you, Paul?" came in a voice he recognized as belonging to Jud, who had been one of those in charge of the nearby boats.
"Yes, what's wrong?" asked the scout master.
"Can't you come over here? Going to be the dickens to pay, I reckon. The bally old lake's rising like fun. Looks like the outlet must have got stopped up somehow. You're sure going to have to move your tents mighty quick. Coming, Paul?"
"All right," answered the other, as he crawled out, and started under the dripping trees for the spot where the two motorboats lay in the cove, sheltered from the waves that had been dashing against the shore elsewhere.