Obed, four or five feet away, was still sleeping soundly on his couch of grass.

The little river, silver in the moonlight, flowed with a pleasant trickle, but the trickle was not the sound that had awakened him.
The forest was absolutely silent.

Not a breath of wind stirred, but the boy, although awed by the night and the great jungle, still listened intently.
The sound rose again, a low, hoarse rumble.

It was distant thunder.

A storm was coming.