Buster John had a reply ready, but he did not make any, for just at that moment a low, rumbling sound was heard. It seemed to come nearer and grow louder, and then it died away in the distance.
“What is that?” asked Mrs. Meadows, in an impressive whisper.
“Thunder,” answered Mr. Rabbit, who had listened intently. “Thunder, as sure as you’re born.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “I saw a cloud coming up next door, just before we came through the spring gate.”
“I must be getting nervous in my old age,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “I had an idea that it was too late in the season for thunder-storms.”
“That may be so,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “but it’s never too late for old man Thunder to rush out on his front porch and begin to cut up his capers. But there’s no harm in him.”
“But the Lightning kills people sometimes,” said Buster John.
“The Lightning? Oh, yes, but I was talking about old man Thunder,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “When I was a boy, I once heard of a little girl”—Mr. Thimblefinger suddenly put his hand over his mouth and hung his head, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.
“Why, what in the world is the matter?” asked Mrs. Meadows.
“Oh, nothing,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I simply forgot my manners.”