“There’s one thing puzzles me about it,” said John. “If you understand him so well, why don’t you ever tell me how to? What made him so smart-alecky to Lucius just now?”
Again she laughed with condescension. “Why, Luddie didn’t mean to be fresh at all. He just spoke without thinking.”
But upon hearing this interpretation, Mr. Allen cast a rueful glance at his lovely cousin. “Quite so!” he said. “Children can’t tell their reasons, but they’ve always got ’em!”
“Oh, no, they haven’t,” she laughed. And then she jumped, for there came a heavy booming of thunder from that part of the sky which the roof of the porch concealed from them. The sunshine over the pink-speckled garden vanished; all the blossoms lost colour and grew wan, fluttering in an ominous breeze; at once a high wind whipped round the house and the row of straight poplars beyond the garden showed silver sides.
“Luddie!” shrieked Mrs. Thomas; and he shrieked in answer; came running, just ahead of the rain. She seized his hand, and fled with him into the house.
“You remember how afraid they are of lightning,” said John apologetically. “Lightning and thunder. I never could understand it, but I suppose it’s genuine and painful.”
“It’s both,” the visitor remarked. “You wouldn’t think I’m that way, too, would you?”
“You are?”
“Makes me nervous as a cat.”
“Did you inherit it?”