“Only a little condensation,” said he, “a draught of cooler air has passed over. We will be out of it in a few minutes.”
Adele felt chilly, but would not say so. She drew her hooded-wrap about her, and felt quite safe with the Doctor.
“A Lepcha shanty is just beyond here,” said he, “if it comes to the worst we can find shelter.”
“And plenty of dirt,” thought Adele. “No doubt, lots of insects, especially on a damp day.”
The patter of rain increased, a very wet drop fell upon her cheek, several big drops struck the Doctor full in the face. Having no umbrellas they hurried along instinctively, then broke into a trot—then ran to escape as best they could. When crossing an open space between the woods and the hut the rain fell in torrents.
“You will be drenched through and through,” said the Doctor.
“I don’t mind it at all. It’s only on the outside, anyhow, and I’m warmly clad; still it’s a little chilly—let’s hurry,” and off she started, the Doctor after her, on a bee-line for the shelter. Panting, they rushed up to the shanty.
The hut was almost full—full of Lepchas—men, women and children, unkempt specimens of humanity whose clothes when once on seemed seldom to be taken off until they fell off. The Lepchas had also taken refuge from the storm, and were all wet and bedraggled, like themselves.
“A sweet party, truly!” thought the Doctor, and so it was. Poor natives lying round like drowned rats—the Americans in exterior appeared not much better; all but Adele’s cheeks which glowed after the exercise of running.
She pulled back her hood, and a ripple of smiles played over her countenance—the Lepchas laughed too. Then as if they were all friends together, she asked: “Can you take us in—take us in?” and began shaking the rain from her garments at the outer stone. It must have been her cheerful manner that induced one of the women to make room next herself on a seat; the Lepcha men were more stolid, but all began to move when the strangers entered.