"And who was the native, papa?" put in Cora Soule. "Anybody we know?"
"Yes, that good-for-nothing Joe Koloa I once had working for me," was the plantation master's answer, and we three boys could not help but exchange knowing glances.
"We're hot on the trail," murmured Oliver.
"Why, you were asking about Joe Ko" began Cora Soule, turning to us, when a loud clap of thunder cut her short and made her give a gasp of terror. "Oh, my, is the—the house struck!" she panted.
The lightning had filled the room, and all of us were more or less frightened. Down came a fresh deluge of rain, and for the time being nobody could make himself heard, and Joe Koloa was forgotten. Mr. Soule ran to the rear of the dwelling and pointed to a tall palm that had been split in two from top to bottom.
"It came close enough," he said grimly.
"I wouldn't want it any closer," I answered. "Do you get such storms often?"
"Two or three times a year. They make up for the long dry spells we have."
As is often the case, the heavy thunderbolt proved the last of the storm, and in less than half an hour the clouds blew away and the sun came out strong and hot. By that time our coats were dry, having hung close to the fire, and we put
