"Wallace will mind."
"Wallace won't see. I'll keep my left hand hidden, so. Good thing my sleeves are so long. I say!—What fun!—Look at that lady holding on for dear life to the railings. I don't mean to do anything so ignominious."
"Nan, my dear, you are almost old enough to leave off saying, 'I say!'"
"If I shall ever be old enough, mother!"
Mrs. Valentine shook her head, with a little smile.
"I wonder what we are all going to do to amuse Lettice! I wonder what she has grown into, and what she is like. Well, I ought to be off. There's a book in Wallace's bedroom, which I promised to take back;—I must get it, and leave it now. What's that?"
The question was not so much as heard. A prolonged heavy crash sounded; not a crash only, but a reverberating mixture of sounds; both roar and rattle, with a continuous grinding downpour, as if some semi-solid Niagara had launched itself into the house from above; and the whole room shook with the concussion. Voices were not at first audible. Prue made one hasty movement to her mother's side, and Mrs. Valentine grew pale; while Nan stared at them both, aghast.
"What is that?" burst from all three, as soon as words could be distinguished.
Shrieks arose from lower regions; and shouts in Mr. Valentine's hearty voice.
"Something must have fallen—or been blown down," said Prue, not losing her composure. "Father is not hurt. I hear him calling out."