right about it.  Directly it begun to rain, and it rained like all fury, too, and I never see the wind blow so.  It was one of these regular summer storms.  It would get so dark that it looked all blue-black outside, and lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so thick that the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the pale underside of the leaves; and then a perfect ripper of a gust would follow along and set the branches to tossing their arms as if they was just wild; and next, when it was just about the bluest and blackest--_FST_! it was as bright as glory, and you'd have a little glimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away off yonder in the storm, hundreds of yards further than you could see before; dark as sin again in a second, and now you'd hear the thunder let go with an awful crash, and then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down the sky towards the under side of the world, like rolling empty barrels down stairs--where it's long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you know. “Jim, this is nice,” I says. “I wouldn't want to be nowhere else but here. Pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread.” “Well, you wouldn't a ben here 'f it hadn't a ben for Jim.  You'd a ben down dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittn' mos' drownded, too; dat you would, honey.  Chickens knows when it's gwyne to rain, en so do de birds, chile.” The river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at last it was over the banks.  The water was three or four foot deep on the island in the low places and on the Illinois bottom.  On that side it was a good many miles wide, but on the Missouri side it was the same old distance across--a half a mile--because the Missouri shore was just a wall of high bluffs. Daytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe, It was mighty cool and shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside.  We went windin