tried to raise his head.

And all the while the shrieking and cries for help came from the
outside, mingled now with the trampling of feet.

Then, sounding muffled and strange, and as if from a great distance, Tom
heard David's voice.

"What is it? where are you hurt?"

"Oh, all over," came in Pete's voice; "I was a-lookin' over the wall and
they shot me with a big gun."

"Yah!" cried David, as if still at a great distance, but his words
sounded with peculiar distinctness through the metallic ringing.
"Shootin'! It was a thunderbolt struck the mill."

"Oh, what is the matter?" came now in Mrs Fidler's voice.

"Thunderbolt, mum; I saw the flash," cried David; and as Tom still held
up his uncle's head, and knelt there confused, half-stunned and
helpless, Mrs Fidler's voice rose again.

"Quick! help them before the place falls. Master! poor master! Mr
Maxted--Master Tom!"

Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and as Tom looked up, to see the
ceiling above him come crumbling down, more questioning voices were
heard outside, and Pete's voice rose again.

"They shot me with a big gun--they shot me with a big gun."

"Master! master!" shrieked Mrs Fidler. "Oh, there you are! Oh, Master
Tom, don't say he's dead."

Tom shook his head feebly; he could not say anything. Then, as he felt
himself lifted up, he heard the Vicar say--

"Oh dear me; I don't know--I'm afraid I'm a good deal hurt."

Then quite a cloud gathered about them, and with his ears still singing,
Tom felt himself lifted out, water was sprinkled over his face, and he
began to see things more clearly; but every word spoken sounded small
and distant, while the faces of David, Mrs Fidler, and the people who
gathered about them in a scared way looked misty and strange. Then he
heard the Vicar's voice.

"Thank you--yes, thank you," he said; "I'm getting better."

"Bones broke, sir?" said David.

"No, I think not; see to poor Mr Brandon. I was thrown against the
wall, right across; I can't quite get my breath yet, and I'm as if I was
deaf. Ah, Tom, my boy, how are you?"

"I don't know, sir, I don't think I'm hurt; but ask the people not to
shout so, it goes through my head." Then, as if he had suddenly
recollected something, "Where's uncle?"

"He's coming to, my dear," said Mrs Fidler. "I think he's coming to."

And now Tom saw that they were lying on the newly-made grass-plot
outside the mill, and that his uncle was being attended by