“How gallant you are, I declare, Tommy Sherwood,” cried Nan, laughing again, and then shuddering as the growl of the thunder was repeated.
“Swamp's no place for a girl in a storm,” muttered the boy.
“Well, I am here, Tommy; what are you going to do with me?” she asked him, saucily.
“If you're so scared by thunder you'd better begin by stopping your ears,” he drawled.
Nan laughed. Slow Tom was not often good at repartee. “I'm going to stick by you till it's over, Tom,” she said, hopping up behind him on the wagon-tongue.
“Cracky, Nan! You'll get soaked. It's going to just smoke in a few minutes,” declared the anxious young fellow.
And that reminded Nan again of the smoking tree.
“Oh, Tom! Do you know I believe there is a tree afire over yonder,” she cried, pointing.
“A tree afire?”
“Yes. I saw it smoking.”