"It's growing worse, if worse be possible." The tent reeled under the blows of the wind, the canvas booming hollowly at every shock, while the sleet and rain rattled overhead like skirmish-fire grown into a battle.

In the lulls they could hear the water streaming off at the side-walls with the noise of small cataracts.

He reached up curiously and touched the wet roof.

A burst of water followed instantly at the point of contact and coursed down upon the grub-box.
"You mustn't do that!" Frona cried, springing to her feet.

She put her finger on the spot, and, pressing tightly against the canvas, ran it down to the side-wall.