It's bad enough
to have to stand the storm without listening to a phonograph,"
grunted Bluff.
The hours crept along. Now and then they dozed, but sound slumber did
not come to a single one of the group. Uncle Toby was quite content to
cower as close to Frank as possible, satisfied that the other was able
to protect him. He seemed to exhibit the blind confidence of a dog in
an emergency calling for energy; to him Frank was a type of manliness
hard to match.
"Will the morning ever come?" groaned Will, as he shifted his cramped
position for the tenth time at least.
"Well, I think we've got a lot to be thankful for," declared Frank,
stoutly; "in the first place, no great damage is done, for I saw that our
tent was caught in the branches of a tree close by, and we can rescue it
in the morning. Then nothing was spoiled that I know of. And the storm is
really over, though morning is some two hours off," striking a match and
looking at his nickel watch.
"Can't we have a fire?" asked Will, who was shivering under his blanket.
"Just thinking so myself. It's getting sharp, now that the wind
has shifted into the northwest. Suppose we make a try," answered
Frank, readily.
It was just in anticipation of such an emergency that he had hidden some
of the dry wood away where the rain could not reach it.
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