A laugh broke into Rilla's sobbing, producing something very like what
her father would have called hysterics. But she caught herself up before
the hysteria could conquer her.
"Rilla Blythe, I'm ashamed of you. Pull yourself together immediately.
Jims, you shouldn't have said anything like that."
"God frew me off the twain," declared Jims defiantly. "Somebody frew me;
you didn't frow me; so it was God."
"No, it wasn't. You fell because you let go of my hand and bent too far
forward. I told you not to do that. So that it was your own fault."
Jims looked to see if she meant it; then glanced up at the sky again.
"Excuse me, then, God," he remarked airily.
Rilla scanned the sky also; she did not like its appearance; a heavy
thundercloud was appearing in the northwest. What in the world was to be
done? There was no other train that night, since the nine o'clock
special ran only on Saturdays. Would it be possible for them to reach
Hannah Brewster's house, two miles away, before the storm broke? Rilla
thought she could do it alone easily enough, but with Jims it was
another matter. Were his little legs good for it?
"We've got to try it," said Rilla desperately. "We might stay in the
siding until the thunderstorm is over; but it may keep on raining all
night and anyway it will be pitch dark. If we can get to Hannah's she
will keep us all night."
Hannah Brewster, when she had been Hannah Crawford, had lived in the
Glen and gone to school with Rilla.
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