At this moment there came a low, dull rumble. “Thunder!” cried Tibbs. “Goodness gracious! Then this must be a thundercloud we’re in!” gasped Coppertop. And it was. It very soon commenced to roar and rumble round them in a most terrifying way, and vivid flashes of lightning shot here and there and zig-zagged across the sky. It grew so dark that the children could scarcely see each other, and had no idea in which direction to fly. “Oh, my hair is on fire!” cried Coppertop, after a vivid flash. “Oh, whatever shall I do? Please put it out, somebody. Quickly!” [Illustration: “Oh, my hair is on fire!” cried Coppertop.] But it was a false alarm. Her little red head wasn’t more on fire than usual, but it was full of electricity, and sparkled and crackled all over. And when she put up her hand, to feel if her ribbons were still there, her hair went off in sharp explosions wherever her fingers touched it. “Oough, how funny!” exclaimed Kiddiwee, “Cece has turned into a real firework.” “It’s not at all funny. I only hope I’m not a rocket, and that my head won’t shoot off!” “Take hold of her pig-tails on either side,” cried Tibbs, “then it won’t.” But as soon as they did this, they received such an electric shock from her hair that it knocked them both over! Now it was Coppertop’s turn to laugh, which she did very thoroughly; but she suddenly stopped, the smile faded from her face, and gave way to a look of blank dismay. Tibbs and Kiddiwee were nowhere to be seen! “Where can they be?” she cried, trying vainly to see through the dense black cloud. “Whatever shall I do if they have melted away, or something terrifikly annoying like that? Whatever shall I do?” “Go back to bed!” cried a harsh voice, which sounded like Mrs. Grudge’s, “and don’t try to steal my fine December days!” “I won’t go to bed!” cried Coppertop defiantly, “and I hate you for being so beastly!” she added, for she knew now that it was the Clerk of the Weather who spoke. “Then I’ll throw you into the sea!” he snarled. At the words the thundercloud melted away, and Coppertop found herself far out over a wide ocean, and falling rapidly. She tried to fly up, but her wings had been injured by the storm, and were useless. “I suppose I shall be drowned,” she muttered to herself, as she fell faster and faster, “and that will be the end of me and the December day. I suppose Tibbs and Kiddiwee are down there too, and that’ll be the end of them. I ought to be simply terrified, but I’m not. This falling-down feeling is so funny, that I believe, if I’m not dreadfully careful, I shall laugh instead.” Still faster she fell, and nearer and nearer came the sparkling ocean. Just as she began to prepare for a splash, she fell PLOMP on to something soft and springy. “Why, it’s a BED!” she cried. “MY bed!” and her eyes opened so widely with surprise that their lashes tangled with her eyebrows. “My big four-posted bed!” she muttered, unable to believe it.