“There’s an earthquake—in the southern part of Africa—and I’ve been in it; and I’m afraid the house will go in; oh, what shall we do? Mr. Brush is up in the field—” “Stand still, Joe, and get some breath to talk with, and then tell us what has happened to you,” said Aunt Affy, quietly. Joe dropped on the piazza floor, still carefully holding the eggs. “Will the house rock and come down, do you think, Aunt Affy, as the houses did in the book Judith read?” “How did you get all that earth on your clothes and tear your shirt-sleeve?” Judith inquired, forgetting her red eyes in the latest adventure. “In the earthquake; I went in almost up to my neck, but I held on with one hand and didn’t break the eggs.” “Where _was_ the earthquake?” she asked. “In the sheep pen. I was looking for eggs, and the first I knew I felt the ground sliding, and I was going down—there was water, for I heard it splash. I thought you said _fire_ was inside the earth; I went down into water. And I caught hold of something with one hand because I had two eggs in the other, and I pulled, and pulled, and pulled myself up and out.” “Why, Joe, you poor boy,” exclaimed Aunt Affy, in alarm, “that old cistern has caved in at last, and you’ve been in it; you might have been drowned. What a mercy that you are safe. Don’t you go near that sheep pen again until Mr. Brush says you may.” “I’ll _never_ go near it again—I’ve had enough of it. I _couldn’t_ scream—I tried to, but nobody heard. Are you sure it won’t cave in again, and get here, and swallow up the house?” “_That_ will not,” laughed Judith, “Oh, you queer boy.” “Then may I have some bread and butter?” he asked, rising. “I think it will turn me crazy if it caves in again.” “Aunt Rody is in the kitchen; tell her your story and ask her for the bread,” replied Aunt Affy. Judith trembled so that she could scarcely stand; she dared not follow Joe; she dared not stay where she was: Aunt Rody herself made a way of escape for her by coming to the kitchen door with a slice of graham bread in her hand. “Here, Joe: I heard your story. Here’s the bread. I hope you’ll behave yourself after this. Now, Judith, you see the reason I keep you from hunting eggs. You might be dead in that cistern this moment.” “You couldn’t pull yourself up as I did,” remarked Joe, giving Aunt Rody the two eggs as she handed him the graham bread. Judith drew a long breath of relief. Now she need never tell; Joe would not be punished.