es by the roadside
and down came the rain. I put up my umbrella and began to run. We have
few "tempests" in Denboro, those we do have are almost worthy of the
name.

I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from the
Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging a horse
drawing a covered carriage. I had sprung to one side to let it go by
when I heard a man's voice shouting, "Whoa!" The voice did not come from
the carriage but from the road behind it.

"Whoa! Stop him!" it shouted.

I jumped back into the road. The horse saw me appear directly in front
of him, shied and reared. The carriage lamps were lighted and by their
light I saw the reins dragging. I seized them and held on. It was all
involuntary. I was used to horses and this one was frightened, that was
all.

"Whoa, boy!" I ordered. "Whoa! Stand still!"

The horse had no intention of standing still.

He continued to rear and plunge. I, clinging to the reins, found myself
running alongside. I had to run to avoid the wheels. But I ran as slowly
as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made running, on the
animal's part, a much less easy exercise.

The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment, a man
seized the reins beside me. Together we managed to pull the horse into a
walk. Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton coachman, vented
his feelings in a comprehensive burst of profanity. I interrupted the
service.

"What is the matter?" I asked.

"Oh, this blessed"--or words to that effect--"horse is scared of
thunder; that's all. He's a new one; we just bought him before we came
down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks. Whoa! stand still, or
I'll break your dumb neck! Say," turning to me, "go back, will you, and
see if she's all right."

"Who?"

"Miss Colton--the old man's daughter. She got out when he began to dance
and I was holding him by the bridle. Then came that big flash and
he broke loose. Go back and see to her, will you? I can't leave this
horse."

For just a moment I hesitated. I am ashamed of my hesitation now, but
this is supposed to be a truthful chronicle. Then I went back down the
road. By another flash of lightning I saw the minister's umbrella upside
down in the bushes where I had dropped it, and I took it with me. I was
about as wet as I well could be but I am glad to say I remembered that
the umbrella was a borrowed one.

After I had walked, or stumble