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?©, Lyda Farrington

"We Ten Or, The Story of the Roses"


I got _so_ angry! I _despise_ a coward! Had Jack done that, I thought to
myself, I'd have been tempted to thrash him to put some spirit and pluck
into him; and here was this great big overgrown boy--! "Why don't you
run away to the house?" I broke out sharply. "I can take care of myself;
_I'm_ not afraid of a little thunder."
He put up his hand in a deprecating way, as if asking me to hush. Then,
as a nearer peal reverberated among the rocks, and another flash lighted
up the now leaden-coloured sky, he sprang forward and caught hold of my
arm, with a sharp cry of "_Come! come!_" Wheeling me round suddenly, he
ran toward the house, carrying me along with him with such force and
swiftness--though I resisted--that in a few minutes we were on the
piazza, and then in the hall, with the heavy outer door swung shut. We
were barely under cover when the rain pelted down, and the thunder and
lightning grew more loud and vivid.
Hilliard leaned breathlessly against the hat-rack table,--I could see
that he was trembling. I stood and looked at him,--I suppose it was
rude, but I couldn't help it; you see I had never met such a kind of
boy before.


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