"I have, once," said Alexia.
"Is your aunt in the closet, did you say?" Mr. Filbert kept on, with the impression that a reply would soon be coming if he only held up the conversation at his end of it.
Alexia dashed down the sofa-cushion with a nervous hand. "I can't breathe; let's get out, Polly," and she flew up, to sit quite straight. "Yes, my aunt is up in the closet, Mr. Filbert. Whee! Oh, I am so scared, Polly Pepper!"
"She'll be struck there quicker 'n any other place she could pick out," declared the little old gentleman positively.
Alexia hopped off from the sofa and ran on anxious feet to his chair.
"What did yon say, Mr. Filbert? and how do you know?" she cried, all in one breath.
"The chimney closets always catch the lightning first," said Mr. Filbert cheerfully; "you see, it——"
Alexia dashed off, ran through the hall and up to her own room. "Aunt, Aunt," she cried, thrusting her head into the closet, "you'll be struck in there, Mr. Filbert says so. Come out, Aunt."
There was no response, and Alexia, now in mortal terror, plunged into the closet.
"Come, Aunt. Oh, my!" as a clap of thunder sent her plunging in headlong. "Why, where—" for grope as she might, clear up to the end, among the clothes and the shoe-bag, no Miss Rhys was to be found.