“Isn’t every thing so nice?” said she. It was all she could think of to say; but she wanted Hop-clover to know she liked her in their seat, eating with them.
Before dinner was over, the sun had thrown off his great-coat of clouds; and the children were soon rushing out of the house, gayer than ever. There were running and laughing, and playing and singing. It was a day of almost perfect delight; and, when “The Lady of the Lake” whistled to call them back, nobody was ready to go except the grown people.
“I shall be thankful if we once get these children home,” remarked Nanty aside to Nunky, after they were all on board. “I’m so afraid somebody will fall into the water!”
Alas! there was a far greater danger; though nobody thought of it, not even the man who was putting coal under the boiler. This man was proud of “The Lady of the Lake,” and wanted her to skim over the water as fast as possible: so perhaps he made too much fire; and perhaps, too, there was a crack in the red-hot iron. I don’t quite know what was the trouble; but something terrible happened,—the boiler blew up.
I shall not describe the scene on the boat; for, even if I knew how to do it, it is too dreadful to write or even think about.
That night there were terror and distress throughout the whole town of Rosewood. Everybody knew that “The Lady of the Lake” had met with an awful accident, and that some of the children who had gone on the excursion would not come home alive, while many others were fearfully hurt.
Judge Pitcher and his wife did not know of it for some hours. While out riding, they were stopped on the street by “the little woman,” who exclaimed with a white face,—
“A despatch from Muldoon! ‘The Lady of the Lake’ blown to pieces!”
The judge did not wait for another word, but drove furiously to the telegraph-office. There he learned that the cars were to arrive half an hour later than usual, bringing the dead and wounded.