“Oh, I'm so afraid of the thunder!” screamed Amy Garrett.
“You goose, it won't hurt you.” Lucy Bennett, whom Amy had crouched against, gave her a little push.
“It will. It will. My uncle was struck once,” said Amy, rebounding from the push to grasp Lucy frantically around the neck.
“You nearly choked me to death,” exclaimed Lucy, untwisting the nervous hands; “don't get so scared. Your uncle never was struck by the thunder, and we haven't had any lightning yet; so I wouldn't yell till we do.”
“Well, there it is now,” cried Amy, covering her eyes. And there it was now, to be sure, in a blinding flash; to be followed by deeper rolls of thunder, drowning the screams of the frightened girls, and the plunging of the horses that didn't like it much better.
Mr. Kimball peered out and squinted to the right and to the left through the blinding storm; then he turned his horses suddenly off from the road, into a narrow lane. “Oh, why do you?” began Miss Salisbury. But this remonstrance wouldn't have done any good had the old stage-driver heard it. At the end of the lane, he knew in a few moments they would all arrive at a big old fashioned mansion where shelter could not be refused them under such circumstances. Although,—and Mr. Kimball shook within himself at his temerity,—under any other conditions visitors would not be expected nor welcomed. For Mr. John Clemcy and his sister, Miss Ophelia, had never exhibited, since they settled down in this quiet spot after leaving their English home many years ago, any apparent desire to make friends. They were quite sufficient for themselves; and what with driving about,—which they did in a big basket phaeton, or behind their solemn pair of black horses, and the still more solemn coachman, Isaac, also black,—and in the care of the large estate and the big brick mansion, they found ample occupation for their time and thoughts.
Up to this big red brick mansion now plunged Mr. Kimball with as much assurance as if he were not quaking dreadfully. And the other stages following suit, the sudden and unusual uproar brought two faces to the windows, and then to the door.
“May we all git out and go into your barn?” roared Mr. Kimball, peering at them from beneath his dripping hat.
There was an awful pause. Mr. Kimball clutched his old leather reins desperately; and Miss Salisbury, to whom had come faint rumors of the chosen isolation of the brother and sister, felt her heart sink woefully.
Mr. John Clemcy stepped out,—slender, tall, with white hair and beard, both closely cropped. He had a pale, aristocratic face, and a pair of singularly stern eyes, which he now bent upon the old stage-driver.