put it.

"We don't care whether we have a dry tent or not, now," laughed
Dan Dalzell, as the six boys made a break for cover. "We're soaking,
anyway, and a little more water won't hurt."

"I'll get a fire going in the stove," Dick smiled. "Soon after
that we'll be dry enough---if the tent holds."

The stove was already in place, a sheet-iron pipe running up one
of the tent walls and out through a circular opening in the canvas
of the side wall opposite from the wind.

While Dick was making the fire, Tom Reade filled, trimmed and
lighted the two lanterns.

"Listen to the storm!" chuckled Prescott. "But we're comfy and
cheery enough. Now, peel off your outer clothes and spread them
on the campstools to dry by the fire. We'll soon be feeling as
cheery as though we were traveling in a Pullman car."

Within a short time all six were dry and happy. The lightning
had come closer and closer, until now it flashed directly overhead,
followed by heavy explosions of thunder.

Not one of the boys could remember a time when it had ever rained
as hard before. It seemed to them as though solid sheets of water
were coming down. Yet the position of the tent, aided by the
ditches, kept their floor dry. Dan, peering out through the canvas
doorway, reported that the ditches were running water at full