parted by anything but a canoe. The hollow went back thirty or forty
feet with a sloping roof of stone, and from the ledge, whenever the
lightning flashed, they saw the river flowing before them in a rushing
torrent, but inside the hollow the waters were a still pool.

"Now the rain comes," said Tayoga.

Then they heard its sweep and roar and it arrived in such mighty volume
that the surface of the river was beaten almost flat. But in their snug
and well-roofed harbor not a drop touched them. Robert on the ledge with
his back to the wall had a pervading sense of comfort. The lightning and
the thunder were both dying now, but the rain came in a steady and
mighty sweep. As the lightning ceased entirely it was so dark that they
saw the water in front of them but dimly, and they had to be very
careful in their movements on the ledge, lest they roll off and slip
into its depths.

"Robert," said Willet in a whimsical tone, "one of the first things I
tried to teach you when you were a little boy was always to be calm,
and under no circumstances to let your calm be broken up when there was
nothing to break it up. Now, we've every reason to be calm. We've got a
good home here, and the storm can't touch us."

"I was already calm, Dave," replied Robert lightly. "I took your first
lesson to heart, learned it, and I've never forgotten it. I'm so calm
that I've unfolded my blanket and put it under me to soften the stone."

"To think of your blanket is proof enough that you're not excited. I'll
do the same. Tayoga, in whose country is this new home of ours?"