"Oh, what a pity!" exclaimed his sister, as she went down on her knees to pick up the pictures. "Our beauty larch, that was planted only this spring, and that looked so lovely with its tassels of green! To think of the dreadful wind rooting up that! I'm sure that this at least is an ill wind, that blows nobody good."
"You should see the mischief it has done in the wood," observed Harry; "snapping off great branches as if they were twigs. The whole path through the wood is strewn with the boughs and the leaves."
"I can't bear the fierce wind," exclaimed Nina. "When I was out half an hour ago, I thought it would have blown me away. I really could scarcely keep my feet."
"I could not keep my cap," laughed Harry. "Off it scudded, whirling round and round right into the river, where I could watch it floating for ever so long. I shall never get it again."
"Mischievous, horrid wind!" cried Nina, who had just picked up the last of her pictures.
"Oh, missie, ye maunna speak against the wind—for ye ken who sends it," observed the old nurse. "It has its work to do, as we hae ours. Depend on't, the proverb is true, 'It's an ill wind that blaws naebody good.'"
"There's no sense in that proverb," said Harry, bluntly. "This wind does nothing but harm. It has snapped off the head of mamma's beautiful favourite flower—"
"And smashed panes in her greenhouse," added Nina.
It was indeed a furious wind that was blowing that evening, and as the night came on it seemed to increase. It rattled the shutters, it shrieked in the chimneys, it tore off some of the slates, and kept the children awake with its howling. The storm lulled, however, before the morning broke; and when the sun had risen, all was bright, calm, and serene.
"What a lovely morning after such a stormy night!" cried Nina, as with her brother Harry she rambled in the green wood, while old Ailsie followed behind them. "I never felt the air more sweet and fresh, and it seemed so heavy yesterday morning."