"I won't talk any more," promised Bunny Brown. "Please go on, Mother. I'll be quiet."
So Mrs. Brown continued:
"I began to learn this piece about the wreck. I don't remember now, how it all went, but I know the first two lines were like this:
| "'The thunder rolls, |
| The lightning flashes!' |
"I remember those lines very well," said the children's mother, "and I thought how wonderful it would be if I could get up there and speak them in a loud voice. I practiced hard, too—as hard as you have practiced for your play. And I thought I had the piece learned perfectly. Finally Friday afternoon came, lessons were finished, books put away and we got ready for the recitations in the main schoolroom.
"I forget the different pieces that were spoken. There were all kinds, but none like mine. Some were sad and some were funny, and some of the boys and girls got up and were so stage-struck that they couldn't think of a single word of the pieces they had learned.
"Then I was afraid this would happen to me, but when my name was called, and I walked up to the platform, I was glad to find that I could remember every single word—or at least I thought I could.
"But dear me! As soon as I opened my mouth and began to speak it was just as though the bottom had opened and let everything fall out of everything. All I could think of was the first two lines:
| "'The thunder rolls, |
| The lightning flashes!' |
"Over and over again I repeated those lines, and I could not get past them. The teacher looked sorry for me, and some of the boys and girls began to laugh. This made it all the worse for me, and my face grew red. Over and over again I told about the thunder and lightning, and at last I made up my mind I'd have to do something, or else go to my seat as some of the other girls had done, without finishing. And I didn't want to do that.