Rollo had no more to say, but he was impatient to go. He and Lucy went out and stood on the steps again. The clouds were breaking up and flying away in all directions, and large patches of clear blue sky appeared everywhere, giving promise of a beautiful evening.
“Hark!” said Rollo; “what is that?”
Lucy listened. It was a sort of roaring sound down in the woods. Rollo at first thought it was a bear growling.
“Do you think it is a bear?” said he to Lucy, with a look of some concern.
“A bear!—no,” said Lucy, laughing. “That is not the way a bear growls. It is the freshet.”
“The freshet!” said Rollo.
“Yes; it is the water roaring along the brook.”
Rollo listened, and he immediately perceived that it was the sound of water, and he jumped and capered with delight, at thinking how fine a sight it must be.
At the tea-table Rollo’s father explained the plan he had formed for their going. He said it was rather a difficult thing to go and see a freshet without getting wet—especially for a girl. He and Rollo, he said, could put on their good thick boots, but Lucy had none suitable for such a walk, as it would probably be very wet and muddy in some places.
“What shall we do then?” said Rollo.