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"Lots of things 'tracts it," continued Sarah Walker. "Gold and silver, and metals and knives and rings." "And pennies?" "And pennies most of all! Kribbles was that vain, she used to wear jewelry and fly in the face of Providence." "But you thaid " "Will you? There! you hear that?" There was another blinding flash and bounding roll of thunder along the shore. "I wonder you didn't ketch it.
You would only I'm here." All was quiet again, but from certain indications it was evident that a collection of those dangerous articles that had proved fatal to the unhappy Kribbles was being taken up. I could hear the clink of coins and jingle of ornaments. That Sarah herself was the custodian was presently shown. "But won't the lightning come to you now?" asked a timid voice.
"Do you know who Kribbles was?" she asked confidentially. "No." "Well," she whispered, "I made Kribbles up. And the hidgeous storm and thunderbolt and the burning! All out of my own head." The only immediate effect of this escapade was apparently to precipitate and bring into notoriety the growing affection of an obscure lover of Sarah Walker's, hitherto unsuspected.
All the other children echoed "Not a bit," indignantly, in evident gratification at the completeness of Kribbles' catastrophe.
But it was not lifted in lamentation, it was raised only as if resuming a suspended narrative. "Her name," said Sarah Walker gloomily, "was Kribbles. She was the only child of of orphaned parentage, and fair to see, but she was bad, and God did not love her. And one day she was separated from her nurse on a desert island like to this. And then came a hidgeous thunderstorm.
When I reached the ledge, after a severe struggle with the storm, I found Sarah on the leeward side, drenched but delighted. I held her tightly, while we waited for a lull to regain the cliff, and took advantage of the sympathetic situation. "But you know you WERE frightened, Sarah," I whispered; "you thought of what happened to poor Kribbles."
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