As she spoke there came a loud rattling peal of thunder, followed immediately by a blinding flash of lightning that zigzagged across the sky, making the dense darkness yet blacker by contrast.
It was then that Mary Hastings, sitting up in bed, caught a glimpse, in the glare of the lightning, of Annie Pearson’s white terrified face in the next cot.
“O Mary, I’m sc—scared to d—death!” Annie whimpered, her teeth chattering with cold and terror.
“We are all right if only our tent doesn’t blow over,” returned Mary, and her steady voice quieted Annie for the moment. “If it does, we must make a dive for the dining-room. Got your raincoats and rubbers handy, girls?”
“I’m putting mine on,” Olga’s voice was as cool and undisturbed as Mary’s. She turned towards the next cot and added, “Elizabeth, you’ve no raincoat. Wrap yourself in your rubber blanket if the tent goes.”
“Ye—es,” returned Elizabeth, with a little frightened gasp.
Under the bedclothes Annie Pearson was sobbing and moaning, “O, I wish I was home! I wish I was home!”
Mary Hastings spoke sternly. “Annie Pearson, if you don’t stop that whimpering I’ll shake you!”
Annie subsided into sniffling silence. Outside there was a lull, and after a moment, Mary added hopefully, “There, I guess the worst is over, and we’re all right.”
While the words were yet on her lips, the storm leaped up like a giant refreshed. Rain came down in a deluge, beating through tent-canvas and spraying, with fine mist, the faces of the girls. Another vivid glare of lightning was followed by a long, loud rattling peal ending in a terrific crash that seemed fairly to rend the heavens, while the wind shook the tents as if giant hands were trying to wrest them from their fastenings. Then from all over the camp arose frightened shrieks and wails and cries, but Annie Pearson now was too terrified to utter a word. The next moment there was a loud, ripping tearing sound, and as fresh cries broke out, Mrs. Royall’s voice, clear and steady, rose above the tumult.