to me, Amy; I know Brownie, and Mr. Lufton does not"
Amy was losing her self-possession at the idea of a thunderstorm coming on; she had never been out in one since the fatal day when she lost her father. Mr. Lufton did not think there was any chance of such a thing; but Allan quickened the pace of the party as much as he thought the horses could bear, and never took his eye off Amy and Brownie. After about twelve miles' journey through a dense scrub, the wind shified, and the sky became suddenly black, and one distant roll of thunder was heard.
"Let us stop here—let us get down at once," said Amy. "I'll camp here all night rather than ride through the storm that is coming. If you want to go on, go without me, and come back for me to-morrow. Oh Allan, help me off Brownie."
"Why, Amy, there is nothing to be alarmed at," said Allan.
"There really is not," said Lufton; "there will be little or no thunder and it is very distant."
"But I am alarmed—unreasonably alarmed—do let me get down."
Her piteous pleading had no flinty hearts to move. Though all the rest of the party were
