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Page 52
"Pooh! pooh!" said her husband. "Roger knows how to take care of
himself, and Hilda too. Boys, is the skiff well moored?"
The boys knew it was, but thought it would be well to see, and
disappeared by handsprings into the darkness. A double splash,
followed by joyous shouts, announced their arrival on and
departure from the wharf; and they shortly reappeared, dripping
and gleeful.
"Boys, how can you!" exclaimed their mother. "This is the fifth
time you have been in to-day; besides, I have just tidied up this
room. Go away with you, and drip in the tent."
"He pushed me off, and I pulled him in!" said Phil, in
explanation. "Very sorry, shall not occur again."
"I wanted to see how deep the water was," said Gerald. "Very
important, you know, to take soundings in a storm."
"Still more important to quicken the circulation after a cold
bath," said Mr. Merryweather, taking up a leather strap from the
table. The boys shrieked, and vanished through the window in a
fine harlequin act.
The lightning blazed incessantly, the wind howled and roared about
the camp, and the thunder pounded and smashed the clouds overhead.
Bell and her mother drew closer together, and Kitty nestled down
between them, and held a hand of each, "to keep herself safe."
"If the lightning strikes the camp, what shall we do?" asked
Willy.
"I think we shall be very likely to keep still!" said his father,
dryly.
"Miles, how can you?" said Mrs. Merryweather. "I wonder you can
joke, with those two children out in the canoe in this horror!"
"My dear, I would gladly weep, if I thought it would be of any
assistance to Roger; as it is, I rather fancy he is quite as well
off as we are, if not bet--"
Crack! The world turned to blue light, showing a ring of ghastly
faces, looking terror at each other; then the sky fell, and all
was night.
"All speak who are unhurt!" said Mr. Merryweather's calm voice;
and no one would have guessed the anguish of suspense in which he
waited for the reply. But it came in a chorus: "Miranda!" "Bell!"
"Gertrude!" "Will!" "Kitty!"
"Thank God!" said Miles Merryweather. "That was a close call.
Boys, are you all right?" He stepped to the window as he spoke.
"All right, father!" For once the boys' voices sounded grave; as
the pall of darkness lifted, they entered, very pale, and holding
each other tightly by the hand. "The big oak is struck!" they
said. "Shivered into kindling-wood. We were just going to climb
it, to look at the storm."
"We don't like this!" said Gerald. "We feel very much
uncomfortable inside us, and we want our mother."
And sure enough, the two tall fellows sat down on the floor by
their mother, and put their heads in her lap; and she patted the
curly heads, and talked to them soothingly, and forgot that they
were not still her little lads, whom she had rocked in her arms
together many and many a time.
"Your nerves are upset," said their father. "Always the case when
a stroke comes so near as that. If you ever feel inclined to climb
a tree in a thunderstorm again, just mention it to me, and I will
see to you." He spoke lightly, but he took occasion to pass near
the boys, and laid his hand on them, as if to make sure that they
were really there and safe, and rubbed their shoulders and gave
them a little affectionate slap.
For a while they sat quiet, for all were still quivering from the
blow that had passed so near them. Gradually the fury of the storm
abated; the lightning ceased to play continuously, and though each
separate flash was still terribly vivid, yet the pauses between
gave strength and refreshment to the wearied eyes and nerves. The
great shocks of thunder rolled heavily, but still farther and
farther away. The storm was moving off across the lake, and one
thought was in the hearts of all--the birch canoe. How was it with
those two, alone in that frail boat in the wild tempest? It seemed
hours that they sat there, waiting and listening. At length--"It
is lighter now," said Mr. Merryweather. "Come, boys, let us go
down to the wharf, and see what we can see. Hark! what was that?"
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