As Mr. Percival finished, Ruel returned from the summit of Saddleback.
“You’d better get the things into camp, and foller ’em yourselves. There’s a storm comin’. The wind’s jest haowlin’, over in the birches on the west side of the maounting.”
CHAPTER X.
THE STORM.
IT was fortunate that Ruel made that little exploring expedition, all by himself, for the storm was evidently rising fast. The sun went out; clouds rolled up over the western sky until it seemed as if evening were coming on; the forest was perfectly silent, except for a troubled rustling of the birches, the plash of the brook, and a dull, far-off sound like the waves of a distant ocean.
Mr. Percival drove all the party into the camp, and Ruel busied himself in laying on extra poles and closing every crack where the rain might beat in at the sides.
Kittie and Bess had been out in a storm before with their uncle, so they didn’t much mind it. Pet nestled up close beside them, and waited with wide-open eyes, hardly knowing whether to be more frightened or delighted at the prospect. Tom was by far the most nervous of the party, fidgeting about, begging Ruel to come inside, and behaving so queerly that Bess declared with a laugh that she believed he felt like the princes, when the Manitou was coming. As she spoke there was an ominous and prolonged roll of thunder, and the tree-tops bent under the first rush of the on-coming tempest.
Tom started and turned white to the very lips, but answered never a word.
“Don’t bother the boy,” said Mr. Percival kindly. “See—the storm is really upon us now!”
A glittering flash of lightning accompanied his words, and was followed by a rattling discharge of thunder. Up to this time, not a drop of rain had fallen, but now it began to patter like bullets on the dry leaves, the fire, and, loudest of all, on the bark roof above them.
Ruel crept in at last, and all seven curled up in as small compass, as far from the half-open front, as possible. How it did pour! It came down in torrents, in sheets, with an uninterrupted roar.