The wind was blowing a miniature hurricane through the trees, and the rain was falling in torrents.

She could hear it spatter on the canvas roof, and drop from the poles, and gurgle in a stream through the ditch.

She could hear, too, the loud, angry murmur of the trout brook and the splashing of hundreds of rivulets that dashed down the slope and over the gorge into it.
She gave Sarah a little pinch, and woke her up.
"Oh, Sarah, it's come! It's raining like everything, and here we are, and we can't get to Mr.Fisher's--isn't it splendid ?" "Ye-es," said Sarah; "it's very splendid, only isn't it a little--wet?
It's dropping right on my cheek." "Oh, that's nothing--why, here I can put my hand right down into a puddle of water.

It's just like being at sea." "I know it.

Are people at sea always so--cold ?" "Why, I'm not cold.