Molly crept up to the other two, and intertwining their arms, the
three huddled together, shivering with fear and dismay.

One after another, the terrible thunderbolts crashed and rolled,
and the fearful lightning glared at intervals.

Then, with a swish and a splash, the rain began. It came down in
gusty torrents, and dashed in at the open windows like a spray.

Molly and Marjorie jumped up and flew to shut the windows, but
Stella remained crouched in a pathetic little heap.

"Somebody will come to get us," whispered Molly, trying to be
hopeful and to cheer the others.

"No, they won't," said Marjorie, despairingly; "for Grandma thinks
I'm over at Stella's, and your mother thinks you're there, too."

"Yes, but Stella's mother will hunt us up; somebody is SURE to
come," persisted Molly.

"No, she won't," said a weak little voice; "for I told Mother that
we might stay home this afternoon, and we might go over to
Molly's. And she'll think we're over there."

"It wouldn't matter if the ladder WAS up," said Molly, "for we
couldn't go out in this pouring rain, and we might get struck by
lightning, too."