"Still more important to quicken the circulation after a cold bath," said Mr. Merryweather, taking up a leather strap from the table. The boys shrieked, and vanished through the window in a fine harlequin act.
The lightning blazed incessantly, the wind howled and roared about the camp, and the thunder pounded and smashed the clouds overhead. Bell and her mother drew closer together, and Kitty nestled down between them, and held a hand of each, "to keep herself safe."
"If the lightning strikes the camp, what shall we do?" asked
Willy.
"I think we shall be very likely to keep still!" said his father, dryly.
"Miles, how can you?" said Mrs. Merryweather. "I wonder you can joke, with those two children out in the canoe in this horror!"
"My dear, I would gladly weep, if I thought it would be of any assistance to Roger; as it is, I rather fancy he is quite as well off as we are, if not bet—"
Crack! The world turned to blue light, showing a ring of ghastly faces, looking terror at each other; then the sky fell, and all was night.
"All speak who are unhurt!" said Mr. Merryweather's calm voice; and no one would have guessed the anguish of suspense in which he waited for the reply. But it came in a chorus: "Miranda!" "Bell!" "Gertrude!" "Will!" "Kitty!"
"Thank God!" said Miles Merryweather. "That was a close call.
Boys, are you all right?" He stepped to the window as he spoke.
"All right, father!" For once the boys' voices sounded grave; as the pall of darkness lifted, they entered, very pale, and holding each other tightly by the hand. "The big oak is struck!" they said. "Shivered into kindling-wood. We were just going to climb it, to look at the storm."