“I know exactly what you are thinking,” said Page, coming up and putting her wet arm around Douglas’ wet waist. “I have lived in the country all my life and whenever we have a big storm at Bracken or unseasonable weather of any sort, we are always held personally responsible for it by a certain type of visitors. You think this is going to harm your camp and keep people from coming, don’t you?”
“Why, how did you know?”
“A little bird told me—a stormy petrel. Now I tell you what we must do: we must whoop things up until all of these week-enders will think that the storm was about the most interesting thing that ever happened at Camp Carter and they will come again hoping for a repetition of the experience.”
“Oh, Page! How can we?” and Douglas smiled in spite of herself.
“Well, let’s call a council and appoint a committee on ways and means.”
Mr. Tucker was first on the list, then Helen and Dr. Wright, Bill Tinsley and Lewis Somerville. Nan was so busy looking at the beauties of Nature that she had to be called three times before she answered.
“Come on, Miss Nan!” begged Mr. Tucker. “Your wise little head is wanted on this committee.”
“Only look at that bank of clouds as the lightning strikes on the edge of it! It looks like the portals of heaven.”
“Yes, and it came mighty near being that same thing,” muttered Mr. Tucker.
The storm was really passing. Flashes of lightning and peals of thunder grew farther and farther apart. The rain gave one big last dash and stopped as suddenly as it had begun and then the moon asserted herself once more.