There was a sudden rumbling crash on the roof of the sky. 

“Jerry,” Peg whispered out of the darkness, and I heard his quick, guarded footsteps. 

“Yes?” I breathed, getting to my feet in the sudden tense thought that the Strickers had come. 

“It’s going to rain.” 

“Oh!…” I lost my sudden tenseness and started breathing again. “Put up your umbrella,” I joked. 

“I wish I had one. Our bedding will get soaked.” 

“You seem to overlook the fact,” I laughed, “that this is a regular boat.” 

“Huh!” 

“And every regular boat,” I went on, “has a cabin.” [20]

[20]

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s a hatchway in the other deck.” 

“Crickets! I never thought of that.” 

Using a flashlight to light our way, we went quickly to the rear deck and raised the hinged hatch, which was fitted with a hasp and pin. 

There wasn’t much space under the deck. But it was better to squeeze, I told Peg, than to get soaked. So we shoved our bedding into the hole, where tools such as shovels and picks had been kept under padlock when the scow had been used for clay hauling. 

Peg crept into the hole, flashing the light ahead of him. 

“What if the Strickers come?” 

“They won’t come in the rain,” I predicted. 

“I saw them just before dark.” 

“In the brickyard?” 

 Prev. P 23/153 next