“Hurry!” cried Mrs. Sherman.  “I am afraid that some of these flying shingles, or whatever they are, will hurt some one.  It is almost a cyclone.”

Breathless and excited, they all hurried into the house, and banged the great front door in the face of the storm.  The children tumbled into the drawing-room, the smaller ones huddling in a frightened heap in the middle of the floor, until the fury of the storm was over.  There was nothing to do but wait with bated breath after each vivid flash of lightning for the terrific crash that always followed, and listen to the wind outside as it fought with the sturdy tree-tops.  Now and then a limb snapped in the fierce struggle, and fell to the ground with a loud crackling noise.

“I hope there will be enough of a roof left over our heads to shelter us,” said Mrs. Sherman, as bricks from the chimney tops began rolling down the roof and falling to the ground below with heavy thuds.

“We expected to start home about this time,” Miss Allison was saying.  “We ordered the wagonettes to come back for us at ten o’clock, but it looks now as if we are storm-bound for the night.  Did you ever hear such a downpour?”

“It’s the clatter of the rain on the tin roof of the porch,” answered Mrs. Sherman, speaking at the top of her voice in order to be heard above the deafening din of the rain and wind.

For nearly half an hour they sat waiting for the storm to pass.  Several games were proposed, but none of the children wanted to play.  They seemed to feel more comfortable when they were snuggled up close against some grown person, or holding some elderly protecting hand.  But gradually the lightning grew fainter and fainter, and the thunder went growling away in the distance, although the rain kept steadily on.  Mrs. Sherman called for some music in the drawing-room, and while Miss Allison and Mrs. Cassidy played the liveliest duets they knew, the children drifted out into the hall and over the house as they pleased.

Most of the older boys and girls sat on the stairs in groups of twos and threes, while from the upper hall the scurry of feet, and the singsong cry that London Bridge was falling down, showed what the little ones were playing.  It was after eleven o’clock when the wagonettes came rumbling up to the door.  The rain had stopped, and a few stars were beginning to struggle through the clouds.

“How cold and damp it is!” exclaimed Mrs. Sherman, as she stepped out on the front porch.  “The thermometer must have fallen twenty degrees since you came.  You will all need wraps of some kind.  Wait till I can get you some shawls and things.”

“No, indeed!” every one protested.  “We will wrap up in our sheets again.  We do not need anything else.”

There was a laughing scrimmage over the pile of sheets that had been thrown hastily into one corner of the hall, when the party ran in out of the storm.  Nearly all the masks and pillow-cases were put on again, too, so that the party broke up in laughing confusion.  Nobody recognised his neighbour or knew who he was bumping against as he hurried up to bid his perplexed hostess good night.