Nan ran after the rumbling cart and finally Tom saw
her.
"My mercy me!" gasped the boy, using one of his mother's favorite
expressions. "What you doing here, Nan?"
"Chasing you, Tom," laughed the girl. "Is it going to rain?"
"I reckon. You'll get wet if it does."
"I don't care so much for that," confessed Nan. "But I am so
afraid of thunder! Oh, there it comes."
The tempest muttered in the distance. Tom, who had pulled in his
horses and stopped, looked worried. "I wish you weren't here,
Nan," he said.
"How gallant you are, I declare, Tommy Sherwood," cried Nan,
laughing again, and then shuddering as the growl of the thunder
was repeated.
"Swamp's no place for a girl in a storm," muttered the boy.
"Well, I am here, Tommy; what are you going to do with me?" she
asked him, saucily.
"If you're so scared by thunder you'd better begin by stopping
your ears," he drawled.
Nan laughed. Slow Tom was not often good at repartee. "I'm
going to stick by you till it's over, Tom," she said, hopping up
behind him on the wagon-tongue.
"Cracky, Nan! You'll get soaked. It's going to just smoke in a
few minutes," declared the anxious young fellow.
And that reminded Nan again of the smoking tree.
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