the lightning should strike the house at all, it would come down the chimney or walls; so obviously, the further you are from them, the better. Come hither to me, now.’

‘Presently. Something you just said, instead of alarming me, has strangely inspired confidence.’

‘What have I said?’

‘You said that sometimes lightning flashes from the earth to the clouds.’

‘Aye, the returning-stroke, as it is called; when the earth, being overcharged with the fluid, flashes its surplus upward.’

‘The returning-stroke; that is, from earth to sky? Better and better. But come here on the hearth and dry yourself.’

‘I am better here, and better wet.’

‘How?’

‘It is the safest thing you can do—Hark, again!—to get yourself thoroughly drenched in a thunderstorm. Wet clothes are better conductors than the body; and so, if the lightning strike, it might pass down the wet clothes without touching the body. The storm deepens again. Have you a rug in the house? Rugs are nonconductors. Get one, that I may stand on it here, and you, too. The skies blacken—it is dusk at noon. Hark!—the rug, the rug!’

I gave him one; while the hooded mountains seemed closing and tumbling into the cottage.

‘And now, since our being dumb will not help us,’ said I, resuming my place, ‘let me hear your precautions in travelling during thunderstorms.’

‘Wait till this one is passed.’

‘Nay, proceed with the precautions. You stand in the safest possible place according to your own account. Go on.’

‘Briefly, then. I avoid pine trees, high houses, lonely barns, upland pastures, running water, flocks of cattle and sheep, a crowd of men. If I travel on foot—as today—I do not walk fast; if in my buggy, I touch not its back or sides; if on horseback, I dismount and lead the horse. But of all things, I avoid tall men.’

‘Do I dream? Man avoid man? and in danger-time, too.’

‘Tall men in a thunderstorm I avoid. Are you so grossly ignorant as not to know that the height of a six- footer is sufficient to discharge an electric cloud upon him? Are not lonely Kentuckians, ploughing, smit in the unfinished furrow? Nay, if the six-footer stand by running water, the cloud will sometimes select him as its conductor to that running water. Hark! Sure, yon black pinnacle is split. Yes, a man is a good conductor. The lightning goes through and through a man, but only peels a tree. But sir, you have kept me so long answering your questions that I have not yet come to business. Will you order one of my rods? Look at this specimen one. See: it is of the best of copper. Copper’s the best conductor. Your house is low; but being upon the mountains, that lowness does not one whit depress it. You mountaineers are most exposed. In mountainous countries the lightning-rod man should have most business. Look at the specimen, sir. One rod will answer for a house so small as this. Look over these recommendations. Only one rod, sir; cost, only twenty dollars. Hark! There go all the granite Taconics and Hoosics dashed together like pebbles. By the sound, that must have struck something. An elevation of five feet above the house will protect twenty feet radius all about the rod. Only twenty dollars, sir—dollar a foot. Hark!—Dreadful!—Will you order? Will you buy? Shall I put down your name? Think of being a heap of charred offal, like a haltered horse burnt in his stall; and all in one flash!’