"I thought there was always a breeze at Jocelyn's," Mrs. Scott observed,
in the critical spirit of a recent arrival.

"There always is," the other explained, "except the first week you're
here."

A little breath, scarcely more than a sentiment of breeze, made itself
felt. "I do believe the wind has changed," said Mrs. Frost. "It's east."
The others owned one by one that it was so, and she enjoyed the merit of
a discoverer; but her discovery was rapidly superseded. The clouds
mounted in the west, and there came a time when the ladies disputed
whether they had heard thunder or not: a faction contended for the
bowling alley, and another faction held for a wagon passing over the
bridge just before you reached Jocelyn's. But those who were faithful to
the theory of thunder carried the day by a sudden crash that broke over
the forest, and, dying slowly away among the low hills, left them deeply
silent.

"Some one," said Mrs. Alger, "ought to go for those children." On this it
appeared that there were two minds as to where the children were,
--whether on the beach or in the woods.

"Was n't that thunder, Grace?" asked Mrs. Breen, with the accent by which
she implicated her daughter in whatever happened.

"Yes," said Grace, from where she sat at her window, looking seaward, and
waiting tremulously for her mother's next question.

"Where is Mrs. Maynard?"