“Fire’s gittin’ tired,” remarked Ruel, after about two minutes of this; and sure enough, nothing was left but a few charred brands, steaming sulkily.
The lightning and thunder now came almost simultaneously, flashing and booming until the very sky above them seemed ablaze.
After a few attempts at conversation the young folks gave it up, and remained silent. Pet was very much frightened and hid her face on Kittie’s shoulder, giving a little involuntary cry whenever an unusually loud peal of thunder crashed overhead.
For a full half-hour the fury of the storm lasted. Then it rolled away over the hills and left only a light rain falling. It was still far too wet for them to leave their shelter, but the party recovered their spirits, and Ruel even managed to coax a new fire to blaze on the ruins of the old, with the aid of some dry bark and sticks he had prudently stowed away at the first alarm. The cheerful blaze and hissing crackle of the fire were reassuring, and voices soon rose again, as merrily as ever.
“What time do you s’pose it is?”
“Three o’clock!”
“Say, aren’t you awfully stiff? Do let me move my foot a little!”
“Kit, let’s have a song. That one about the pines.” This was from Tom.
Kittie accordingly sang the following lines, to a bright little air. They were written by Randolph’s brother, she admitted with a blush and a laugh; the tune was in Whiting’s Third Music Reader:
The pines have gathered upon the hill,