athwart it. The rain was pouring in torrents, and the wind began to
sweep it in broad sheets over the plains, and under their slight
covering, so that in a short time they were wet to the skin. The
horses stood meekly beside them, with their tails and heads equally
pendulous; and Crusoe sat before his master, looking at him with an
expression that seemed to say, "Couldn't you put a stop to this if you
were to try?"

"This'll never do. I'll try to git up a fire," said Dick, jumping up
in desperation.

"Ye may save yerself the trouble," remarked Joe dryly--at least as
dryly as was possible in the circumstances.

However, Dick did try, but he failed signally. Everything was soaked
and saturated. There were no large trees; most of the bushes were
green, and the dead ones were soaked. The coverings were slobbery, the
skins they sat on were slobbery, the earth itself was slobbery; so
Dick threw his blanket (which was also slobbery) round his shoulders,
and sat down beside his companions to grin and bear it. As for Joe and
Henri, they were old hands and accustomed to such circumstances. From
the first they had resigned themselves to their fate, and wrapping
their wet blankets round them sat down, side by side, wisely to endure
the evils that they could not cure.

There is an old rhyme, by whom composed we know not, and it matters
little, which runs thus,--

"For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy--or there's none.