134 TROTTY’'S WEDDING TOUR.

The next thing I can remember is a horrible noise. It was
a horrible noise. J can’t think of but one thing in this world
it was like, and that isn’t in this world so much. I mean
the Last Trumpet with the Angel blowing as he blows in my
old Primer.

But the next thing I remember is hearing Jill sit up in
bed, —for I could n’t sce him, it was so dark, — and his pip-
ing out the other half of Miss Togy’s name, just as he had
left it when he went to sleep : —

“Gy! Bogy! Fo-gy! Soa-ky! 0,” said Jill, coming
to at last, “I thought I was up and tried for heading a Pho-
tographer’s Strike, and going to be hung unless I could rhyme
Miss Logy’s name and make sense all the way through to Z!
That red pincushion mother keeps in the spare chamber at
home was judge. Why! what’s up?”

I was up, but I could n’t tell what else was, for a little
while. I went to the window. It was as dark as a great rat-
hole out-of-doors, all but a streak of lightning and an awful
thunder, as if the world were cracking all to pieces. I knew
the cherry-trees in the garden must be shaking and tossing,
for the wind blew so it took my breath away ; but I could not
see them, not a speck of them. Then the lightning lightened,
and I saw the old carryall under the butternut, and then I
saw nothing more.

“Come to bed!” shouted Jill; “ you ’ll get struck, and
that ’Il kill me!”

I went back to bed, for I didn’t know what else to do.