“O, Jack’s dreadful smart! Beats everything! And so are you, Phi Pipkin!” said the boy, sneeringly. “You feel mighty big since you got married, don’t ye?—I bet ye Lion’s got a squirrel under that big rock! I’m going to see!” And away he ran. “That ’ere Phin Chatford ain’t wuth the salt in his porridge,—if I do say it!” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “I never did see sich a shirk; though when he comes to tell what’s been done, you’d think he was boss of all creation. Feel as if I’d like to take the gad to him sometimes, by hokey!” “O Jack!” cried Phin, who had mounted a boulder much too large for Mr. Pipkin’s crow-bar, “you can see Lake Ontario from here,—’way over the trees there! Come and get up here; it’s grand!” “I’ve been up there before,” replied Jack. “Haven’t time now. We shall have that shower here before we get half across the lot.” “Come, Phin!” called out Mr. Pipkin, “there’s reason in all things! We’ll onhitch soon’s we git this load, an’ dodge a wettin’.” “Seems to me you’re all-fired ’fraid of a wetting, both of ye,” cried Phin. “’T won’t hurt me! Let it come, and be darned to it, I say!” This last exclamation sounded so much like blasphemy to the boy’s own ears, and it was followed immediately by so vivid a flash of lightning and so terrific a peal of thunder, from a black cloud rolling up overhead, that he jumped down from the rock and crouched beside it, looking ludicrously pale and scared; while the dog, dropping ears and tail, and whining and trembling with fear, ran first for Jack’s legs, then for Mr. Pipkin’s, and finally crouched by the boulder with Phin. “You’re a perty pictur’ there!” cried Mr. Pipkin, with a loud, hoarse laugh. “Who’s afraid now?” “Lion, I guess,—I ain’t,” said Phin, with an unnatural grin. “Only thought I’d sit down a spell.” “It’s as cheap settin’ as standin’,—as the old hen remarked, arter she’d sot a month on rotten eggs, an’ nary chicken,” said Mr. Pipkin, whose spirits rose with the excitement of the occasion. “There’s a good reason for the dog’s skulking,” said Jack. “He’s afraid of thunder, ever since Squire Peternot fired the old musket in his face and eyes. Hello! another crack!” “I never see sich thunder!” exclaimed Mr. Pipkin. “Look a’ them rain-drops! big as bullets!” “It’s coming!” cried Jack; and instantly the heavy thunder-gust swept over them. “Onhitch!” roared out Mr. Pipkin, in the sudden tumult of rain and wind and thunder. “I must look out for my rheumatiz! Put for the house!” “We shall get drenched before we are half-way to the house,” replied Jack, dropping the trace-chains. “I go for the woods!” “I’ll take Old Maje, then,” said Mr. Pipkin.