"She went out more than an hour ago," replied Christie, "to ramble in the woods, according to her usual habit. I hope she will return before the storm rises!"
"The storm will be on us in half an hour," said Uncle Reuben, looking uneasily at the darkened sky; "and, as thee knows, a storm always rouses Bertha into a state of wildness bordering on frenzy, and sends her rambling off in all directions. I had better go and look for her."
"Where is the use, Uncle Reuben?" said Christie, seating herself languidly in her rocking-chair. "You often went in search of her before, and hardly ever found her until she chose to come home herself, you know."
"Yes; but one does not feel so uneasy when searching for her, as sitting here in the house while she is exposed to the storm. However, I'll wait and get the supper, and if she is not here then, I will go and look for her," said Uncle Reuben, as he proceeded to light the fire and hang on the kettle.
The night deepened and darkened, the sky grew blacker and gloomier, the moments waned rapidly, but the maniac Bertha came not.
"Oh, I wish she were here!" anxiously said good Uncle Reuben, opening the door and looking out into the gloom. A wailing gust of wind from the dark forest, followed by a vivid flash of lightning and flood of rain, made him hastily re-enter and close the door.
"And she is exposed to it all!" he exclaimed, in deepest trouble.
"Oh, she will soon come, I know she will," said Christie, hopefully.
But still the moments glided away, the lonesome night lingered and lingered, and the maniac came not.
"I must go and seek for her," said Uncle Reuben, at last, in desperation, as he took down his great-coat and buttoned it on, and started for the door.