"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.

"She ran too fast," she explained, while the rain beat down on her fair little head, "and she can't get her breath. Nannie and Amelia got to the barn before the rain came, but I couldn't leave Judy."

"I'm all right," gasped Judy, "you run on, Anne. I'm all right."

"Yes, run on, Anne," commanded Launcelot. "I'll take care of Judy, and you must not get wet," and with a protest Anne disappeared behind the curtain of driving rain.

Judy staggered to her feet and attempted to walk two or three steps.

"Stop it," said Launcelot, firmly, "you must not."

"But I can't stay here," cried poor Judy, desperately.

Her lips were blue and her cheeks were white, so that Launcelot wavered no longer. Without any warning, he picked her up as if she had been a child, and ran with her across the field.

"Put me down, Launcelot. Put me down." Judy's tone was imperious.

But she had met her match. Launcelot plodded on doggedly.

"I shall never forgive you," she sobbed, as they reached the door of the Cutter barn.

"Yes, you will," said Launcelot, and his lips were set in a firm line.

"I had to do it, Judy."

He laid her on a pile of hay in the corner.

Her eyes were closed, and her dark lashes swept across her pallid cheeks.

"She isn't strong," whispered the worried Anne, her tender fingers pushing back Judy's wet hair.

"No," said Launcelot, his deep young voice softening to a gentler key as he looked down at her, "she isn't. Poor little thing!"

Judy heard, and her lashes fluttered. "How good they are," she thought, remorsefully, and then she seemed to float away from realities.

When she came to herself, Launcelot had gone, and the three little girls were rubbing her hands and trying to get her to drink some water.

"Oh, Judy, do you feel better?" Anne whispered; "we were so frightened."

"Yes," murmured Judy, and the color began to come into her face.

"Launcelot went to see if he could get something from Perkins for you to take," said Anne; "he told us to build a fire in the old stove, but we have been so worried about you that we haven't done anything."

"Is there a stove?" asked Judy, listlessly.

"Yes. Mr. Cutter put it in here to heat milk for the lambs, and once when we had a picnic we made our coffee here."

"There isn't any wood," said Amelia, hopelessly.

"There is some up in the loft," said Nannie, "Don't you remember the boys put it there, so that no one but ourselves could find it?"

She went swiftly up the narrow steps, but came flying back in a panic.

"_There's some one up there_," she whispered, all the color gone from her face.

"Hush," said Anne, with her eyes on Judy.

Judy was not afraid. She was still weak and wan, but she was braver than the little country girls, and not easily frightened.

"It is probably a p.u.s.s.y cat," she scoffed.

"Or a hen," giggled Amelia.

Anne said nothing. The darkness, the crashing storm outside, and Judy's illness had upset her, and she shivered with apprehension.

"No," Nannie flared, with a scornful look at Amelia and Judy, "it isn't a cat and it isn't a hen. IT sneezed!"

"Ask who's there," advised Judy from her couch.

"I don't dare," said Nannie.