hold them in their arms, which was by no means a pleasant occupation, especially as the cold rain-water was bathing their feet.
"It can't last long," remarked Tom. "We're all right if the lightning doesn't strike us."
"Where's the powder?" asked Harry.
"Oh, it's in the flask," replied Joe, "and I've got the flask in my pocket."
"So, if the lightning strikes the tent, we'll all be blown up," exclaimed Harry. "This is getting more and more pleasant."
The boys were not yet at the end of their troubles. The rain had loosened the earth, and the tent-pins, of which only four had been used, were no longer fit to hold the tent. So, while they were talking about the powder, the tent suddenly blew down, upsetting the boys as it fell, and burying them under the wet canvas.
"Lie still, fellows," said Tom, as the other boys tried to wriggle out from under the tent. "We've got to get wet now, anyway; but perhaps, if we stay
