“It’s the wind. It’s comin’ this time, right enough. Got the windows closed? She’s comin’ strong,” said Joe, who dearly loved a storm, and had no fear of even the “dizziest” chain lightning, much to the little girls’ admiration.
“I wonder will it hurt us, Joe?” asked Eva.
“’Urt you? ’Ow could it ’urt you?” asked Joe, with fine scorn. “Just you watch the lightning play up in them clouds directly; it’ll be real pretty.”
But already Eva’s head was enveloped in her rug.
“Sakes alive! you’ll be smothered before it’s over!” cried Joe.
The moaning sound grew louder and louder, and the leaves began to tremble and the branches to sway, while great flights of bush birds winged their way hurriedly away to the east.
“Look at ’em!” cried Joe—“same as the ’82!”
At last, with a sudden gust of fury, the trees were tossed and bent before the weight of the gale.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish the others were in,” cried Mother anxiously, and then away across the paddock Father and Frank were seen coming at full speed. They pulled the saddles and bridles off their horses and turned them loose, and then rushed into the house as a blinding flash of lightning lit up the gathering darkness.
“Ah, here we are!” cried Frank’s ringing voice, for ever since the evening that Uncle had spoken he had been a different Frank, and his laugh rang clear and gay on every possible pretext. For such is the power of a gleam of hope.