“You are so wet!” said Roger again, more ruefully than before.

“No wetter than you!” said Hilda, with a little laugh.  Indeed, they were both streaming with water, and looked like a merman and mermaid very much out of their element.

“I?  Oh, I never know whether I am wet or dry.  But it is different for you; you will take cold, or—­or something, won’t you?”

“You are afraid I shall melt?” asked Hildegarde.  She stooped down and gathered her skirt together, wringing little floods of water from it.  “No, I don’t think I shall melt, really, Captain.  Do I look as if I were melting?”

“You look—­” began Roger, and stopped suddenly, and then wondered why he stopped, and told himself he was an ass.

“Speaking of melting, reminds me,” he said, laughing.  He felt in his pockets, and produced a small parcel.  “I hope this is not melted.  No, it is all right.  Have some chocolate, and let us make merry on our desert island!  See! the worst of the squall is over.  It is lightening already; I can see the nearest island.”

“Yes, and the water begins to show grey, instead of all black and white.  But has this really been nothing more than a squall, Captain Roger?”

“Oh, if you like the dignities of meteorology, I think we might very properly call this a tornado.”

“A tornado!  I have been out in a tornado!  And how splendid it all is!”

Roger laughed again.  “Splendid, eh?  So it is!  Rather good fun, too, now we are on dry land.”

“Glorious fun!” cried Hildegarde.

The water still raced past at their feet; the rain still poured down, the thunder cracked and roared and bellowed, and the lightning blazed.  But under the canoe it was really quite dry, considering; and the chocolate was excellent, and, on the whole, both Hildegarde and Roger thought well of tornadoes.

Meanwhile, there were some anxious faces at the camp.  The storm had broken there as suddenly as out on the lake.  Bell and Gertrude were out fishing, but fortunately near the shore, and they reached home just as the fury broke loose.  Obadiah and Ferguson were blown in on the gale, turning handsprings as they came, and singing

    “Oh, I’d give a sight
     For to be a kite
     When the wind is howly-wowling!”

Willy and Kitty were discovered, after a few minutes’ anxious search, under the great apple-tree, in high glee because it was raining apples, and the wind would mash them, and the lightning would cook them, and there was no need of coming home to tea, with apple-sauce growing on every tree.  Being hoisted on the shoulders of the twins, they changed their point of view, and turning into Arabs mounted on camels, capered joyously into the house, to escape the sand-storm of the desert.  Mr. Merryweather, who was spending a day or two in camp, came in from the boathouse, where he was tinkering boats as usual.  The whole party sat down, wet and dishevelled, and drew breath as they looked at each other.