“It’s a thunder shower, that’s what it is,” declared Stella; “let’s scramble down the ladder quick, and run for home.  Let’s all run to your house, Marjorie, it’s nearer.”

Midge and Molly looked at each other.

There was no help for it, so Marjorie said:  “We can’t go down the ladder, Stella, because it’s broken down.”

“What!  Who broke it?”

“We did,” said Molly; “that is, we were playing with it and somehow it broke itself.  Of course, we didn’t do it on purpose.”

Stella’s face turned white.  “How shall we get down?” she said.

“We can’t get down,” said Midge, cheerfully; “we’ll have to stay up.  But the roof doesn’t leak; I asked Uncle, and he said it was perfectly watertight.”

“But I don’t want to stay up here in a storm,” said Stella, and her lips began to quiver.

“Now, don’t you cry, Stella!” said Molly, who, if truth be told, was on the verge of tears herself.

Meantime, the darkness was rapidly increasing.  It was one of those sudden showers where a black pall of cloud seems to envelop the whole universe, and the very air takes on a chill that strikes a terror of its own, even to a stout heart.

The three little girls sat looking at each other in despair.

Each was very much frightened, but each was trying to be brave.  It had all happened so suddenly that they had even yet scarcely realized that they were in real danger, when suddenly a terrible clap of thunder burst directly above their heads, accompanied by a blinding flash of lightning.

Stella screamed and then burst into wild crying; Molly turned white and gritted her teeth in a determination not to cry; while Marjorie, with big tears rolling down her cheeks, put her arms around Stella in a vain endeavor to comfort her.

Molly crept up to the other two, and intertwining their arms, the three huddled together, shivering with fear and dismay.

One after another, the terrible thunderbolts crashed and rolled, and the fearful lightning glared at intervals.

Then, with a swish and a splash, the rain began.  It came down in gusty torrents, and dashed in at the open windows like a spray.

Molly and Marjorie jumped up and flew to shut the windows, but Stella remained crouched in a pathetic little heap.

“Somebody will come to get us,” whispered Molly, trying to be hopeful and to cheer the others.

“No, they won’t,” said Marjorie, despairingly; “for Grandma thinks I’m over at Stella’s, and your mother thinks you’re there, too.”

“Yes, but Stella’s mother will hunt us up; somebody is sure to come,” persisted Molly.

“No, she won’t,” said a weak little voice; “for I told Mother that we might stay home this afternoon, and we might go over to Molly’s.  And she’ll think we’re over there.”

“It wouldn’t matter if the ladder was up,” said Molly, “for we couldn’t go out in this pouring rain, and we might get struck by lightning, too.”