It was the sound of a footstep on the porch, a firm, unhesitating footstep.
“I expect that’s my husband,” said Mrs. Floyd.
It was Mr. Floyd, and he was, greatly surprised to see the “whole family up,” as he expressed it.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, looking around on the circle of rather startled faces, ending with his wife’s. “Did you sit up to see how late I got in? Strictly business, young ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, smiling at them. “The committee had considerable to transact, and I had to stay.”
“This is a sort of surprise party,” Cora told him. “Camp Surprise is living up to its name,” and she went on to tell about the noise, the others adding bits here and there.
“Pshaw now! That’s queer!” commented Mr. Floyd. “I have heard them rumblings myself, but I laid ’em to the waterfall. It’s a curious cataract at times.”
“This noise,” began Cora, “isn’t like anything I ever——”
She paused midway in the sentence, and a strange look grew and spread over her face, as it did over the faces of the others.
“There it is now,” whispered Bess. “That—that noise!”
They all heard it, a dull, rumbling roar that made the bungalow tremble as when a heavy wind blows and vibrates the timbers of a house.