y darkened with ominous
swiftness.

"Going to rain," Kent said.

"Sure," added Jot. "Look at those clouds, will you? We'd better get
into a hole somewhere."

"We'll go into the barn," decided Old Tilly, after a minute's thought,
"and if it rains all night, we'll stay there. We can't do any harm."

It rained all night. Shower after shower burst over them heavily, and
there was a continual boom of thunder in their ears. A slight respite
at midnight was followed by the most terrific shower of all. The boys
huddled together in the hay, with awe-struck faces, but unafraid. They
could not sleep in such a magnificent tumult of nature.

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of lightning, then a crash. The
whole universe seemed tottering about them. Dizzy and stunned, they
gazed at each other, unable to move for an instant. Then it was Jot who
sprang up in tremulous haste.

"I smell smoke--we're afire!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," Old Tilly cried, striving to be calm, "it struck this barn."

CHAPTER VII.

They darted away in search of the fire. The glare of the lightning
showed them their way, and presently they came into the glare of the
flames. The bolt had descended through the harness room.

"Quick! Cattle first!" shouted Old Tilly, clearly. "We must save the
cattle, anyway!"

"You go to them, you two--I'm going to the pump," called back Kent,
decisively. He remembered there was a pump just outside the barn, and
he was sure he had seen two or three pails standing about near it--yes,
there they were! He caught them up with a sweep as he leaped by. It was
the work of a moment to fill two pails and a moment more to dash them
down by the floor in one corner where the scattered hay was burning.
Again and again he made flying leaps to the pump and back.

Meanwhile the other two boys were releasing the frantic cattle. It was
no simple thing to do--the poor creatures were so terrified. There were
two steers and a gentle-faced heifer. The boys had made acquaintance
with them the night before, and the poor things greeted them now with
piteous lows of appeal.

"So, boss--so boss--so-o!" soothed Jot at the heifer's head. His
trembling fingers caressed the smooth, fawn-colored nose, as, with the
other hand, he untied her. She crouched back at first and refused to
pass that terrible flaming something on the way to safety outside. But
Jot pulled her along, talking to her all the way.

In less time than it