“Oh, no, no!” she cried. “A porch is the most dangerous place there _is_!” “I don’t know whether or not he’s safe from the lightning,” Lucius explained. “I mean he’s safe from being troubled about it the way we are.” “I don’t call that being safe,” his lady-cousin began. “I don’t see what——” But she broke off to find place for a subdued shriek, as an admiral’s salute of great guns jarred the house. Other salutes followed, interjected, in spite of drawn shades and curtains, with spurts of light into the room, and at each spurt Mrs. Thomas shivered and said “Oh!” in a low voice, whereupon Ludlum jumped and said “Ouch!” likewise in a low voice. Then, at the ensuing crash, Mrs. Thomas emitted a little scream, and Ludlum emitted a large one. “Ouch! _Ow!_” he vociferated. “Mamma, I want it to stop! Mamma, I can’t stand it! I can’t _stand_ it!” “It’s odd,” said Lucius, during an interregnum. “The thunder frightens us more than the lightning, doesn’t it?” “They’re both so horrible,” she murmured. “I’m glad they affect you this way, too, Lucius. It’s comforting. Do you think it’s almost over?” “I’ll see,” he said; and he went to a window, whither Ludlum, having jumped down, followed him. “Don’t open the curtains much,” Mrs. Thomas begged, not leaving her chair. “Windows are always dangerous. And come away from the window, Luddie. The lightning might——” She shrieked at a flash and boom, and Luddie came away from the window. Voiceless—he was so startled—he scrambled toward his mother, his arms outstretched, his feet slipping on the polished floor; then, leaping upon her lap, he clung to her wildly; gulped, choked, and found his voice. He howled. “That was about the last, I think,” observed Lucius, from the window. “It’s beginning to clear already. Nothing but a shower to make things cooler for us. Let’s go play with old John again. Come on, Luddie.” But Ludlum clung to his mother, remonstrating. “No!” he cried. “Mamma, you got to stay in the house. I don’t want to go out there. It might begin again!” She laughed soothingly. “But Uncle Lucius says it’s all over now, darling. Let’s go and——” “I _d’wawn_’ to! I won’t go out of the house. You tell me a story.” “Well,” she began, “once upon a time there was a good fairy and there was a bad fairy——” “Where’d they live?” “Oh, in a town—under some flowers in a garden in the town.” “Like our garden?” “I suppose so,” she assented. “And the good fairy——” “Listen, mamma,” said Ludlum. “If they lived in the garden like those fairies you were tellin’ me about yesterday, they could come in the windows of the house where the pretty little boy lived, couldn’t they?” “I suppose so.” At this Ludlum’s expression became apprehensive and his voice peevish. “Well, then,” he complained, “if there was a window open at night, or just maybe through a crack under the door, the bad fairy could slip up behind the pretty little boy, or into the pretty little boy’s bedroom, an’——”