They were hard at work when Miss Liza joined them.
“It’s half-past three,” said she, shading her eyes with her hands and looking up at the sky. “And if your Grandmother meant what she said, you ought to start for home. But what I’m thinking of is the weather. It’s clear enough overhead, but low down there are black clouds that look like a shower to me. I don’t know whether you ought to set out or not.”
The clouds looked very far away to the children, and, now that their pails were almost full, it seemed a pity not to stay a little longer.
But Miss Liza took one more look round at the sky and made up her mind once for all.
“You must go right along,” she decided, “and hurry, too. I shan’t have an easy moment till I think you are safe at home. Here are your hats and slippers. Miss Lunette is napping, now, so I will say good-bye for you. Hurry right along, children, and don’t stop to play by the way.”
And all in a twinkling Susan and Phil found themselves walking down the village street, with Miss Liza at the gate, waving good-bye with one hand and motioning them along with the other.
The sun was shining as they left the village and turned into the country road that led past home, but there were low mutterings and rumblings and Phil stopped to listen.
“There’s a wagon on the bridge,” said he. “Maybe they will give us a ride.”
“It’s thunder,” returned Susan, more weather-wise than he. “Listen. It’s getting dark, too. I wish a wagon would come along.”
But there was no sound of wheels; only rumblings of thunder growing ever louder, the rustle of leaves in the rising wind, and the call of the birds to one another as they hastened to shelter from the coming storm.