As he lay there thinking over the good fortune which had come to him so unexpectedly, a pattering on the leaves above caused him to start up in alarm.
Then he laughed heartily, for the noise was occasioned by the falling of rain.
“Here I am playin’ the fool again,” he said grimly. “If it hadn’t been for that money I should never have thought of bein’ frightened just because of such a little noise. But say, if it storms very hard I shall be likely to have a rough night of it in spite of all my silver!”
The rain descended more rapidly, the wind moaned among the trees, and the sullen roar of the surf came from the beach.
“The sand I shoveled out this afternoon will all be blown or washed back,” he muttered, “an’ I shall have to do the work over again; but I reckon it won’t be so hard now I know what it’s possible to find.”
The storm came up rapidly.
In less than ten minutes from the time the first drops of water fell, it seemed to Ned as if a perfect hurricane was raging.
The fire was extinguished with many an angry hiss and splutter, and shortly after the illy secured roof of the shanty was blown away like a dry leaf, while the sides and end soon went to keep the other company.
It was useless attempting to avoid the down-pour. In less than three minutes from the time his shelter was borne off on the wings of the storm, Ned was as wet as if he had been indulging in a bath without undressing, and the only thing he could hope to do was to prevent his precious matches from getting wet.
The salt had taken French leave with the first puff of wind, and to save his only materials for kindling a fire, Ned deprived himself of his coat, wrapping the garment around the small supply of “fire sticks.”