The wood,
of which there was a good deal lying about under the trees, was now
all wet and would not burn. However, we managed to get up a fire
in the stove, but I did not know what we were going to do in the
morning. We should have stored away some wood under shelter.
We set our little camp-table in the tent, and we had scarcely
finished our supper, when a very heavy rain set in, accompanied by
a violent wind. The canvas at one end of our tent must have been
badly fastened, for it was blown in, and in an instant our beds
were deluged. I rushed out to fasten up the canvas, and got
drenched almost to the skin, and although Euphemia put on her
waterproof cloak as soon as she could, she was pretty wet, for the
rain seemed to dash right through the tent.
This gust of wind did not last long, and the rain soon settled down
into a steady drizzle, but we were in a sad plight. It was after
nine o'clock before we had put things into tolerable order.
"We can't sleep in those beds," said Euphemia.
"They're as wet as sop, and we shall have to go up to the house and
get something to spread over them. I don't want to do it, but we
mustn't catch our deaths of cold."
There was nothing to be said against this, and we prepared to start
out. I would have gone by myself, but Euphemia would not consent
to be left alone. It was still raining, though not very hard, and
I carried an umbrella and a lantern. Climbing fences at night with
a wife, a lantern, and an umbrella to take care of, is not very
agreeable, but we managed to reach the house, although once or
twice we had an argument in regard to the path, which seemed to be
very different at night from what it was in the day-time.
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