|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 32
"We didn't hear you coming," answered Bobby. "Did you row over?"
"Yes, I came over to tell your mother that your father couldn't
get back till the afternoon boat," Mr. Harley explained. "Your
mother wanted to know if I'd come and fetch you."
"Does she want us?" asked Meg quickly. "Oh! What was that?"
"Thunder," answered Mr. Harley, shortly. "Your mother sent you two
umbrellas, but I don't think we'd better start now; the storm is
'most ready to break. Guess you were having such a good time you
never heard the rumbling."
It was true. The children had never glanced up, or they would have
seen the great white clouds that, mounting higher and higher,
gradually darkened and then shut out the sun. They would have
heard the angry mutterings of thunder and seen the sharp streaks
of lightning, but the game of hunting for treasure had completely
absorbed them.
"It will rain on us," remarked Meg nervously. "There isn't any
roof, you know."
Then she blushed. She wondered if Mr. Harley thought they were
selfish to amuse themselves in his tumble-down home, and whether
it was polite of her to mention that the roof was gone.
"We'll have to make a roof," said Mr. Harley capably. "Let's see;
if we take that door and put it across these two barrels, that
will keep the rain off. Here's a piece of oilcloth we can use for
a curtain to shut the lightning out. Now we're as comfy as we
would be in a regular house."
While he spoke, he had lifted what had once been the front door of
his house, placed it across two barrels and draped across the open
side a large square of oilcloth that was cracked and creased in
many places but still waterproof. The barrels were against the one
wall of the house left standing, so that, when all was fixed, the
small shelter was fairly comfortable.
Bobby, feeling in his pocket for a nail to pin the oilcloth more
securely, touched the queer object his shovel had unearthed that
morning.
"Look what I found," he said eagerly, holding out the little
pointed specimen.
"Arrow head," said Mr. Harley. "Indians once lived on this island,
and you're likely to turn those things up most anywhere. Will your
mother be afraid alone in the bungalow?"
"Mother's never afraid," declared Bobby confidently, putting the
arrow head back in his pocket to show his father. "Oh, that
lightning went right into the lake!"
"Better get in now," Mr. Harley told them, holding up the oilcloth
so that they could creep in under the door-roof. "All in? Then
here I come."
The rain was coming down in great, dashing torrents in another
moment and the four little Blossoms were thankful for their dry
corner.
"It's a good thing we didn't start out," shouted Mr. Harley above
the noise of the rain. "We never could have made the bungalow
before the rain caught us. This will knock the apples off. That's
a pity because they're fine when they're left to ripen."
"Meg said they weren't ripe yet," said Bobby.
"I hope you didn't try to eat any," answered Mr. Harley earnestly.
"Green apples are not good for you."
"Oh, we didn't touch one," Bobby assured him, trying to punch
Twaddles, who was tickling him. "Meg said they belonged to you."
"I want you children to eat 'em, but not till they are ripe," Mr.
Harley shouted back. "Along about the first week in July, you come
up here and you'll find the best sweet apples you ever tasted.
That is, if the storms leave any on the tree, and I guess they
will. You eat all you want--I never want to taste one of those
apples again!"
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|