soaking wet as to raiment, and diligently adding to the general
dampness by fast-flowing tears.

"What is it, now?" he inquired, and if his tone sounded impatient,
it was scarcely to be wondered at. For the battle-scarred veranda
and the drenched condition of the room, together with a broken
ladder, surely betokened mischief of some sort.

"Oh, Carter," cried Marjorie, "never mind us, but can't you take
Stella to the house somehow? She was struck by lightning, and
she's been dead for hours! She only just waked up when she heard
the firecrackers! Did you hear them, Carter?"

"Did I hear them! I did that--not being deef. Faith, I thought it
was the last trump! You're a caution, Miss Midget!" But even as
Carter spoke he began to realize that the situation was more
serious than a mere childish scrape. He had picked up little
Stella, who was very limp and white, and who was still sobbing
hysterically.

"Struck by lightning, is it? There, there, little girl, never mind
now, I'll take care of ye."

Holding Stella gently in his arms, Carter looked out of the window
and considered.

"I could take her down the ladder, Miss Midget, but it's raining
so hard she'd be drenched before we could reach the house. Not
that she could be much wetter than she is. Was she out in the
rain?"