THE BACKSLIDING
thing pattered beside her, and she looked apprehensively at the sky through a rift in the branches.
"Don't say it's rain!" she whispered, nervously. "I'm fearful scairt o' thunder-storms!"
The sky was rapidly clouding over, and a growl of thunder answered her. She started up, but fell helplessly back.
"O Lord, I can't move! I can't move a step! I'm too heavy!" she cried in terror. The storm came on fast; the branches shook under a sudden wind, and the birds grew still. She was too weak to realise fully her situation, but what consciousness she owned was swallowed up in terror. A sudden flash, and she shrank together with a moan.
"I'm out o' my head—I'm not really here—I'm in the house—I wouldn't be here f'r anything!" she whispered. A heavy clap, and she screamed with fear. The time when she left the house was far away and misty in her mind. She could not remember coming. The drops struck her in quick succession and the muttering grew more frequent, the flashes brighter. Sick with fright, she cowered under the tree. Her childhood unfolded before her,
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