Just as they descended the ladder they heard, far in the east, a low rumble of thunder. Before they had started to feast on their beans, there was no doubt that a storm was fast approaching. The wind was rising steadily and the swaying trees made eerie sounds which they could plainly hear during frequent lapses of conversation.
“Hope it ain’t gonna be like the other night,” Skippy said earnestly. “The room was hot but I shivered just the same. An’ then Timmy havin’ that dream an’ screamin’ like he did....”
“Yeah, I was glad I was asleep. Outside this graveyard, there ain’t nothin’ gives me the jitters worse’n a bad storm. Holy Smoke, I ain’t myself then.”
There was a terrific clap of thunder and the wind screeched mockingly past the kitchen windows. A shutter somewhere on the house creaked uneasily on its rusted hinges. The boys put down their coffee cups and looked at each other.
“Takes a hard storm like this for clearin’ the air,” said Nickie profoundly. “My aunt always says that. Remember since the other night it’s been so gloomy—ain’t even seen no sun since we been here. Maybe it’ll be clear tomorrer.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Anyways, kid, will we beat it right off if we get them bars loose tonight?”
“Sure, if we get ’em loose. But it ain’t gonna be so easy, Nickie.”
And it wasn’t easy—not at all. They took turns at the top bar and after an hour succeeded in making it yield only a little and on one side at that. The lantern light was feeble and they dared not use two lamps at a time, for they had made the discovery before climbing to the attic that the oil supply which Frost had left them was too low to be used freely.
The wind screamed around under the eaves and presently blew the rain through the open window. Vainly, they tried to close it but having been in disuse for so many years the frame had warped and Skippy soon decided that it would take a chisel and hammer to get results.