Part 42 (1/2)

”Yes. Oh, Polly, do you suppose it's lightening and thundering now?”--as the two girls cuddled up closer together on the roomy old sofa, the cus.h.i.+on crowded up over eyes and ears.

”I suppose so,” said Polly, very much wis.h.i.+ng she could say ”No.”

”Oh, dear me! I'm smothered to death,” grumbled Alexia, ”and I'm so hot”--wriggling discontentedly.

”So am I,” said Polly.

”What did you say? Your aunt was in the closet?” little old Mr. Filbert was asking; and receiving no reply, he kept on.

”Oh, do hear him,” whispered Alexia, back of the sofa-cus.h.i.+on; ”he is so tiresome, asking the same thing over and over.”

”Well, do answer him,” said Polly.

”I have, once,” said Alexia.

”Is your aunt in the closet, did you say?” Mr. Filbert kept on, with the impression that a reply would soon be coming if he only held up the conversation at his end of it.

Alexia dashed down the sofa-cus.h.i.+on with a nervous hand. ”I can't breathe; let's get out, Polly,” and she flew up, to sit quite straight. ”Yes, my aunt is up in the closet, Mr. Filbert. Whee! Oh, I am so scared, Polly Pepper!”

”She'll be struck there quicker 'n any other place she could pick out,”

declared the little old gentleman positively.

Alexia hopped off from the sofa and ran on anxious feet to his chair.

”What did yon say, Mr. Filbert? and how do you know?” she cried, all in one breath.

”The chimney closets always catch the lightning first,” said Mr. Filbert cheerfully; ”you see, it----”

Alexia dashed off, ran through the hall and up to her own room. ”Aunt, Aunt,” she cried, thrusting her head into the closet, ”you'll be struck in there, Mr. Filbert says so. Come out, Aunt.”

There was no response, and Alexia, now in mortal terror, plunged into the closet.

”Come, Aunt. Oh, my!” as a clap of thunder sent her plunging in headlong.

”Why, where--” for grope as she might, clear up to the end, among the clothes and the shoe-bag, no Miss Rhys was to be found.

”Oh, dear, dear!” Alexia began to whimper, feeling all around the floor with terror-stricken fingers. ”Aunt, where are you? Oh, she's been struck and she's dead, I know she is! Polly Pepper,” she screamed, tumbling out of the closet to rush to the head of the stairs, ”come up and help me find Aunt.”

”Alexia!” Miss Rhys, concluding not to be left alone in the closet when the two girls ran downstairs, had hurried out after them, and now appeared from the hall corner where she had crouched. ”Don't scream so.”

”Oh, Aunt!” cried Alexia, throwing her arms around her, ”you haven't been struck, have you? Oh, do say you haven't.”

”Why, of course not; don't you see I'm here?” said Miss Rhys. ”There, child, take care, you're mussing my lace collar,” and she edged off from the nervous fingers. ”We'll go downstairs, I think, and stay with Mrs.

c.u.mmings.”

”If you're really sure you are not struck,” said Alexia, eying her askance, as if in considerable doubt, ”we'll go; and Polly Pepper is there and that tiresome old Mr. Filbert.”

”If Polly is there, she must stay to luncheon,” said Miss Rhys, gathering up her skirts and preparing to descend the stairs.

”Oh, how fine!” exclaimed Alexia, hopping after, losing sight of the thunderstorm in the delight of having Polly Pepper to herself for so many hours. ”Oh, Aunt, what's that tagging after you?”--catching sight of the piece of embroidery dangling from her aunt's long figure.