“Why don’t you go?” said Mark.
“Lightning,” said Val. “It’s awful.” It really was very powerful. The pears on the wall, and everything however minute stood out more distinctly defined than in daytime.
“It’s a mile high,” said Bevis. “It won’t hurt you.”
“Ted wouldn’t come,” said Phil. “He’s gone to bed, and covered his head. You don’t know how it looks out in the fields, all by yourself; it’s all very well for you indoors.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Bevis directly; up he jumped and went down to them, followed by Mark.
“Why wouldn’t Ted come?” said Mark.
“He’s afraid,” said Phil, “and so was I till Val said he would come with me. Will lightning come to brass?” The flashes were reflected from the brass rings on the standards.
“I tell you it won’t hurt,” said Bevis, quite sure, because his governor had said so. But when they had walked up the field and were quite away from the house and the trees which partly obstructed the view, he was amazed at the spectacle, for all the meadow was lit up; and in the sky the streamers of flame rose in and out and over each other, till you could not tell which flash was which in the confusion of lightning. Bevis became silent and fell into one of his dream states, when, as Mark said, he was like a tree. He was lost—something seemed to take him out of himself. He walked on, and they went with him, till he came to the gate opening on the shore of the New Sea.
“O, look!” they all said at once.
All the broad, still water, smooth as glass, shone and gleamed, reflecting back the bright light above; and far away they saw the wood (where Bevis and Mark once wandered) as plain as at noontide.