“It's Tom!” gasped Nan, and ran harder.
She was almost across the open space now. The cooler depths of the forest were just ahead. Beyond, a road crossed the mainly-traveled swamp track at right angles to it, and this was the path Tom followed.
He was now coming from the river, going deeper into the swamp for another log. Nan continued to run, calling to him at the top of her voice.
She came in sight of the young timberman and his outfit. His wagon rattled so that he could not easily hear his cousin calling to him. He sat on the tongue of the wagon, and his big, slow-moving horses jogged along, rattling their chains in a jingle more noisy than harmonious.
The timber cart was a huge, lumbering affair with ordinary cartwheels in front but a huge pair behind with an extended reach between them; and to the axle of the rear pair of wheels the timber to be transported was swung off the ground and fastened with chains. Nan ran after the rumbling cart and finally Tom saw her.
“My mercy me!” gasped the boy, using one of his mother's favorite expressions. “What you doing here, Nan?”
“Chasing you, Tom,” laughed the girl. “Is it going to rain?”
“I reckon. You'll get wet if it does.”
“I don't care so much for that,” confessed Nan. “But I am so afraid of thunder! Oh, there it comes.”
The tempest muttered in the distance. Tom, who had pulled in his horses and stopped, looked worried. “I wish you weren't here, Nan,” he said.