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Updated: June 11, 2025
The thunder still rumbled, but it was very far away, like heavy waggons rattling over hard stones. Lowietje caught his little brother up on his back and they made straight for the opening of the drove, where they saw a clear sky. They must get out of the wood, away from those trees where such fearful things happened and where it cracked so and where it was so dark.
Trientje heard them shout and yell and, a little later, she saw her little brother sitting high up on the slippery trunk of a beech. She put her hands to her mouth and screamed: "Lo wie!..." It echoed three or four times over the low shoots and against the tall trees, but Lowietje did not hear. A man now came striding down the path; he carried a gun on his shoulder.
Trientje tied her pinafore over the little one's face and they sat there huddled together, shuddering and peeping through their fingers and saying loud Our Fathers. "You must not look, Lowietje: the lightning would strike you blind." The trees wrung their heavy boughs and everything squeaked and rustled terribly.
At noon, under the blazing sun, all three started for the wood, after blackberries. Trientje was in her cotton pinafore, with a straw hat on her head and a wicker basket on her arm. Lowietje stood in his worn breeches and his torn shirt; in his pocket he had a new climbing-cord.
"We shall get a beating," sighed Lowietje. He dropped his wheel-barrow, strode from between the shafts and went and looked into the great window of the tobacco-shop. His eyes were all full, as far as they could carry: an abundance and a splendour to dream about. He came a step nearer and rested his two elbows on the stone window-sill, to see more comfortably.
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