_Our last night in the barn was not like the others_
We lived a full week in the wood-house and barn, a week that is chiefly
memorable to me now because of the kindness of our neighbors.
I wonder if in every New England neighborhood new-comers are treated as
we were. It was high garden season, and I think not a day passed, that
at least one basket of sweet corn, beans, lettuce, and such noble things
was not set at our doors.
From all about they came, and how sweet and fresh they were! There had
been no lack of showers that summer, and gardens were at their best.
Nothing is so good as sweet corn, freshly picked and put in the pot. We
had never really had enough of it before. Now we had to strain our
appetites to keep up with the supply. And lima beans, and buttered
beets, and cucumbers and crisp salads, and fresh cabbage slaw! Dear me!
Why must any one have to stay in town where all those things are scarce,
and costly, and days old, and wilted, when he can go to the country and
have them fresh and abundant from the garden--of his neighbor?
Some of the offerings were really artistic, prettily arranged, and
garnished with flowers. Old Nat of the whitewash came one evening with a
huge round basket, in the center of which was a big yellow pumpkin, the
first of his crop, and ranged about it ears of corn, big red tomatoes,
and heads of lettuce, the whole like some wonderful great flower. But
then Nat was always an artist at heart.
Our last night in the barn was not like the others. We had become very
comfortable there, for we had built our hay higher, and we had learned
the art of resting in that processional fashion, while the big, airy
place and the patter of the not infrequent rain had grown dear to us.
But that last night was different. It rained, as usual, but it did
something more. I had been asleep an indeterminable time when I was
aroused by a crash of thunder that for a moment I thought had taken off
the roof. In the glimmer of lightning that followed I realized that
Elizabeth was awake--also the Pride, aged twelve.
It was the sort of storm to make one sit up on his elbow. Elizabeth sat
up on hers, and declined to lie back even when assured that it would be
easier for the lightning to hit her in that half-erect position. The
Pride began asking persistently if the barn was going to be struck. The
Joy, who was next me, suddenly grabbed my arm and clung like a burr,
saying nothing. The Hope, secure in the knowledge of an upright life,
aided by a perfect digestion, slept as one in a trance, while the fierce
pounding grew more alarming as flash followed flash and the crashes came
more promptly and forcibly on the heels of every flare. I don't think I
was exactly afraid, but I could not altogether forget the tradition that
lightning has a mania for striking barns and it was this that had
occurred to Elizabeth. She said she had been reading of storms like this
in Jamaica, and that invariably they had struck barns, though whether
she meant Jamaica of southern waters or the pretty suburb on Long Island
by that name I have not learned to this day.
There was no wind, but all at once, at the very height of things, when
the flashes and the crashes came together and the very sky seemed about
to explode, one of our wide barn doors swung slowly, silently open, as
if moved by a spirit hand, and at the same instant there came a blaze
and roar that fairly filled the barn. A moment later the great door
silently closed; then once more opened to let in a blinding, deafening
shot.
[Illustration: _I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a second
later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels_]
I could tell by what Elizabeth said that the big door ought to be shut
and securely fastened. I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a
second later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels. Then
the clouds must have upset, for there came a downpour that fairly
drowned the world.
[Illustration]
But the artillery was passing. Soon flash and roar came farther apart
and modified by distance. Nothing was left at last but a soothing rumble
and the whisper of the receding rain. We slept, and woke to find
ourselves rich, in sunlight, blue sky, and overflowing rain-barrels.
This made it washday for Elizabeth and the tribe, and presently all the
lines were full. It was a glorious storm, but that afternoon we moved
our sleeping-arrangements to the house. The painters had finished
up-stairs, and there was no purpose in exposing ourselves to storms
which for all we knew, came straight from Jamaica, where they had a
mania for hitting barns.