"You labour under electro-phobia, my dear ma'am, and mistake it for piety. I'm not a bit afraid of that sort of artillery, ma'am. Here we are, two or three millions of people in this town; and two or three million of shots, and we'll see by the papers, I venture to say, not three shots tell. Don't you think if Jupiter really meant mischief he could manage something better?"
"I know, sir, it ought to teach us"—here she winced and paused; for another glare, followed by another bellow of the thunder, "long, loud, and deep," interposed. "It should teach us some godly fear, if we has none by nature."
Mr. Dingwell looked at his watch.
"Oh! Mr. Dingwell, it is hoffle. I wish you would only see it, sir."
"See the thunder—eh?"
"My poor mother. She always made us go down on our knees, and say our prayers—she would—while the thunder was."
"You'd have had rather long prayers to-night. How your knees must have ached—egad! I don't wonder you dread it, Miss Sarah."
"And so I do, Mr. Dingwell, and so I should. Which I think all other sinners should dread it also."
"Meaning me."
"And take warning of the wrath to come."