.
It had began to thunder in the distance and the wind was blowing damp.

'Guess nobody lives here,' said Uncle Eb as he turned in at the sagging
gate and began to cross the little patch of weeds and hollyhocks behind
it 'Door's half down, but I guess it'll de better'n no house. Goin' t'
rain sartin.'

I was nodding a little about then, I remember; but I was wide awake when
he took me out of the basket The old house stood on a high hill, and
we could see the stars of heaven through the ruined door and one of the
back windows. Uncle Eb lifted the leaning door a little and shoved it
aside. We heard then a quick stir in the old house--a loud and ghostly
rattle it seems now as I think of it--like that made by linen shaking on
the line. Uncle Eb took a step backward as if it had startled him.

'Guess it's nuthin' to be 'fraid of;' he said, feeling in the pet of his
coat He had struck a match in a moment. By its flickering light I could
see only a bit of rubbish on the floor.

'Full o' white owls,' said he, stepping inside, where the rustling was
now continuous. 'They'll do us no harm.'

I could see them now flying about under the low ceiling. Uncle Eb
gathered an gathered an armful of grass and clover, in the near field,
and spread it in a corner well away from the ruined door and windows.
Covered with our blanket it made a fairly comfortable bed. Soon as we
had lain down, the rain began to rattle on the shaky roof and flashes of
lightning lit every corner of the old room.

I have had, ever, a curious love of storms, and, from the time when
memory began its record in my brain, it has delighted me to hear at
night the roar of thunder and see the swift play of the lightning. I
lay between Uncle Eb and the old dog, who both went asleep shortly.
Less wearied I presume than either of them, for I had done none of the
carrying, and had slept along time that day in the shade of a tree, I
was awake an hour or more after they were snoring. Every flash lit the
old room like the full glare of the noonday sun. I remember it showed me
an old cradle, piled full of rubbish, a rusty scythe hung in the rotting
sash of a window, a few lengths of stove-pipe and a plough in one
corner, and three staring white owls that sat on a beam above the
doorway. The rain roared on the old roof shortly, and came dripping down
through the bare boards above us. A big drop struck in my face and I
moved a little. Then I saw what made me hold my breath a m