g through tent-canvas and
spraying, with fine mist, the faces of the girls. Another vivid glare of
lightning was followed by a long, loud rattling peal ending in a
terrific crash that seemed fairly to rend the heavens, while the wind
shook the tents as if giant hands were trying to wrest them from their
fastenings. Then from all over the camp arose frightened shrieks and
wails and cries, but Annie Pearson now was too terrified to utter a
word. The next moment there was a loud, ripping tearing sound, and as
fresh cries broke out, Mrs. Royall's voice, clear and steady, rose above
the tumult.

"Be quiet, girls," she called. "One tent has gone over, but nobody's
hurt. Mary Hastings, slip on your coat and rubbers, and come and help
us--quick!"

"I'm coming," called Mary instantly, and directly she was out in the
storm. Where the next tent had been, nothing but the wooden flooring,
the iron cots, and four wooden boxes remained, and over these the rain
was pouring in heavy, blinding sheets. Mrs. Royall, as wet as if she had
just come out of the bay, was holding up a lantern, by the light of
which Mary caught a fleeting glimpse of four figures in dripping
raincoats scudding towards the dining-room, while two others followed
them with arms full of wet bedding.

Mrs. Royall told Mary to gather up the bedding from a third cot and
carry that to the dining-room, "And you take the rest of it," she added
to another girl, who had followed Mary. "And stay in the
dining-room--both of you. Don't come out again. Miss Anne will tell you
what to do there."

She held the lantern high until the girls reached the dining-room, then
she hurried to another tent, from which came a hubbub of frightened
cries. Pushing aside the canvas curtain she stepped inside the tent, and
holding up her lantern, looked about her. The cries and excited
exclamations ceased at the sight of her, though one girl could not
control her nervous sobbing.

"What is the matter here? Your tent hasn't blown over. What are you
crying about, Rose?" Mrs. Royall demanded.

Rose Anderson, an excitable little creature of fifteen, lifted a face
white as chalk. "O," she sobbed, "something came in--right up on my bed.
It was big and--and furry--and _wet_! O Mrs. Royall, I never was so
scared in my life!" She ended with a burst of hysterical sobbing.

Mrs. Royall cast a swift searching glance around the tent, then--wet and
cold and worried as she was, her face crinkled into sud