The bridge was blocked, covered with a mass of wet leafy branches and splintered wood.

The lightning bolt had missed us by just that much.

It had overthrown and demolished the big willow tree by the brook and to get through or over the tangle was impossible.
So again history repeated itself.

I descended the bank at the side of the bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my arms.

I staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on.