"I didn't have any light--" began Judy. "Well, I should have eaten them up in the dark," mused Amelia, as Perkins passed her the salted almonds for the sixth time. "It was a good thing I didn't," laughed Judy, "or you wouldn't have had anything to eat to-day. Would they, Perkins?" For once in his life Perkins was in an affable mood. The lunch had gone off well, there had been no spiders in the cream or red ants in the cake. The coffee had been hot and the salads cold, and now that lunch was over he could pack the dishes away to be washed by the servants at home, and rest on his laurels. "I should have found something, Miss," he said, cheerfully; then as a big drop splashed down on his bald head, he leaned over the Judge. "I think it is going to rain, sir," he murmured, confidentially. "By George," gasped the Judge, as a bright flash of light and a low rumble emphasized Perkins' words, "by George, I believe it is. "Oh, oh, oh," screamed Amelia, and threw her arms frantically around Nannie. "Don't be silly," said Nannie, and gave her a little shake. "We shall have to run for it," said Launcelot, gathering up wraps and hats, as a sudden gust of wind picked up the ends of the tablecloth and sent the napkins fluttering across the ground like a flock of white geese. "You'd better get the young ladies to the carriage, sir," said Perkins, packing things into hampers in a hurry. "They will get wet. It's going to be a heavy wind storm," said the Judge with an anxious look at Judy. "Let's run for the Cutter barn," cried Anne, with sudden inspiration. "Good for you, Anne," said Launcelot, "that's the very thing." "Where is the Cutter barn?" asked Judy. "Across that stream and beyond the strip of woods. Over in the field." "Come on, Anne, come on. Oh, isn't this glorious. I love the wind. I love it, I love it." Judy's cry became almost a chant as she led the way across the little bridge and through the fast-darkening bit of woodland. The wind fluttered her white garments around her, her long hair streamed out behind, and her flying feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground. Behind her came Anne, less like a wood-nymph, perhaps, but fresh and fair, and not at all breathless, then Nannie, bareheaded and with her best hat wrapped carefully in her short skirts, then Amelia, plunging heavily. Launcelot waited to help Perkins with the horses and hampers and then he followed the girls. The rain came before he was half-way across the stream, and the world grew dark for a moment in the heavy downpour that drenched him. There was a blaze of blue-white light, and a crash that seemed to shake the universe. "They will be scared half to death," was Launcelot's thought as he forged ahead. Just at the edge of the woods he came upon Anne and Judy. Judy had dropped down in a white huddled bunch, and Anne was bending over her.