“They, the lions? Oh, Rose, you must know that was impossible.”
“No, I did not see any lions, but I heard the growl, and Mr. Maddox coughed, and said, ‘Here they come,’ and growled again.”
“And you—?”
“I tumbled into bed again, and rolled up my head in the clothes, and prayed that it might be day, and it was at last!”
“Poor child! Indeed, Rose, I do not wonder at your terror, I never heard of a more barbarous trick.”
“Was it a trick?” said Rose, raising a wonderfully relieved and hopeful face.
“Did you never hear of writing in phosphorus, a substance that shines at night as the sea sometimes does?”
“Aunt Ailie has a book with a story about writing in fiery letters, but it frightened me so much that I never read to the end.”
“Bring it to me, and we will read it together, and then you will see that such a cruel use can be made of phosphorus.”
“It was unkind of them,” said Rose, sadly, “I wonder if they did it for fun?”