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We couldn't see much but the ceiling when we got to
bed.
"It's pretty dark," said Jill; "I shouldn't wonder if it did blow up a
storm a little--wouldn't it scare--Miss--Bogy!"
"Togy," said I.
"Well, T-o--" said Jill; and right in the middle of it he went off as
sound as a weasel.
The next thing I can remember is a horrible noise. I 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. The next thing I remember is hearing Jill sit up in bed--for
I couldn't see him, it was so dark--and his piping out the other half of
Miss Togy's name just as he had left it when he went to sleep.
"Gy--Bogy!--Fogy!--Soaky!--Oh," said Jill, coming to at last, "I
thought--why, what's up?"
I was up, but I couldn'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 was cracking
all to pieces.


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