"We don't like this!" said Gerald. "We feel very much uncomfortable inside us, and we want our mother."
And sure enough, the two tall fellows sat down on the floor by their mother, and put their heads in her lap; and she patted the curly heads, and talked to them soothingly, and forgot that they were not still her little lads, whom she had rocked in her arms together many and many a time.
"Your nerves are upset," said their father. "Always the case when a stroke comes so near as that. If you ever feel inclined to climb a tree in a thunderstorm again, just mention it to me, and I will see to you." He spoke lightly, but he took occasion to pass near the boys, and laid his hand on them, as if to make sure that they were really there and safe, and rubbed their shoulders and gave them a little affectionate slap.
For a while they sat quiet, for all were still quivering from the blow that had passed so near them. Gradually the fury of the storm abated; the lightning ceased to play continuously, and though each separate flash was still terribly vivid, yet the pauses between gave strength and refreshment to the wearied eyes and nerves. The great shocks of thunder rolled heavily, but still farther and farther away. The storm was moving off across the lake, and one thought was in the hearts of all—the birch canoe. How was it with those two, alone in that frail boat in the wild tempest? It seemed hours that they sat there, waiting and listening. At length—"It is lighter now," said Mr. Merryweather. "Come, boys, let us go down to the wharf, and see what we can see. Hark! what was that?"
For a moment every heart stood still. Then Mrs. Merryweather began to cry, and Bell and Gertrude and Kitty all fell into her arms and round her neck, and sobbed in chorus; but the boys started to their feet with a wild "Hurrah!" and dashed out of the house, followed by their father and Willy. For now, clearer every moment and clearer, came ringing across the water the words of the Skye Boat Song, sung by joyous voices of a youth and a maiden.
"Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye."
"But Roger is not a king!" said Gerald, with a queer little break in his voice. "He is only a codger!"
CHAPTER XIV.
ROGER THE CODGER.
"Miranda!" said Roger.