"Run for Home."
Inside the church there was much hesitation, for a moment; but Miss Glidden followed her class without delay, and all the rest followed as fast as they could, and were out in half the usual time. Joe Hawkins heard Jack's words to Molly.
"Run, boys," he echoed. "Cut for home! There's a fearful storm coming!"
He was right. Great drops were already falling now and then, and there was promise of a torrent to follow.
"I don't want to spoil these clothes," said Jack, uneasily. "I need these to wear in the city. The storm isn't here yet, though. I'll wait a minute." He was holding his hat on and looking up at the steeple when he said that. It was a very old, wooden steeple, tall, slender, and somewhat rheumatic, and he knew there must be more wind up so high than there was nearer the ground. "It's swinging!" he said suddenly. "I can see it bend! Glad they're all getting out. There come Elder Holloway and Mr. Murdoch. See the elder run! I hope he won't try to get to Hawkins's. He'd better run for our house."
That was precisely the counsel given the good man by the editor, and the elder said:
"I'd like to go there. I'd like to see that clever girl again. Come, Murdoch; no time to lose!"
The blast was now coming lower, and the gloom was deepening.
Flash—rattle—boom—crash! came a glitter of lightning and a great peal of thunder.
"Here it is!" cried Jack. "If it isn't a dry blast!"