He tried to get to him, but the slightest effort made his head swim, and he was fain to lie still and listen, while David went on talking excitedly.
“I was down the garden digging up the first crop o’ taters, when I see a flash o’ lightning, and then came a clap o’ thunder as sharp as the crack of a whip. It made my ears sing. Then as I run to see, I hears Pete Warboys yelling out—‘They shot me with a big gun—they shot me with a big gun.’”
“Hadn’t some one better fetch the doctor?” said a fresh voice.
“He’s gone out,” cried another.
“Shot me with a big gun,” yelled Pete again.
“Thank you, yes, thank you,” came now in a voice which made Tom Blount’s heart leap. “I don’t think I am much hurt. Where is my boy Tom?”
“I’m all right, uncle,” cried the boy eagerly, though he felt very far from being so; and he heard a few murmured words of thankfulness.
“Where is Mr Maxted?”
“I am here,” said the Vicar, “not much hurt. But tell me, how are your eyes?”
“Rather dim and misty. But what was it?” said Uncle Richard, rather feebly; “an explosion?”