The girls paddled the canoe in to a broken landing just below the scattered shacks of Dogtown, 83 and Henrietta went ashore. It was plain that she would have enjoyed riding farther in the canoe.
“If you see us come down this way again, honey,” Amy said, “run down here to the shore and we will take you aboard.”
“If Mrs. Foley will let you,” added Jessie.
“I dunno what Mrs. Foley will say about the strawberries. I told her I’d bring home some if she’d let me go over there. And here I come home without even the bucket.”
“It is altogether too wet to pick wild strawberries,” Jessie said. “I wanted some myself. But we shall have to go another day. And you can find your bucket then, Henrietta.”
The chums drove their craft up the lake and in half an hour sighted the Norwood place and its roses. Everything ashore was saturated, of course. And in one place the girls saw that the storm had done some damage.
A grove of tall trees at the head of the lake and near the landing belonging to the Norwood place was a landmark that could be seen for several miles and from almost any direction on this side of Bonwit Boulevard. As the canoe swept in toward the dock Amy cried aloud:
“Look! Look, Jess! No wonder we thought that thunder was so sharp. It struck here.”
“The thunder struck?” repeated Jessie, laughing. 84 “I am thunderstruck, then. You mean––Oh, Amy! That beautiful great tree!”
She saw what had first caught Amy’s eye. One of the tallest of the trees was split from near its top almost to the foot of the trunk. The white gash looked like a wide strip of paper pasted down the stick of ruined timber.