“Now, Tom, how are we to stop that?” shouted Uncle Richard, for the roar through the opening, mingled with hissing and shrieking, was deafening.
“Don’t know,” yelled the boy, as he crept to the opening and found that the wind had wrenched it open, and turned it right over upon the roof. “Must do something,” he shouted again, as he drew in his head.
“If we don’t the wind will end by lifting off this roof, and destroying my glass.”
“Cord’s broke,” said Tom in a momentary lull of the wind. Then the roar began again, and the building quivered, while the shutter was lifted and beaten down again with a bang.
Then, from somewhere out in the darkness, came a tremendous roaring crash, apparently very near.
“What’s that?” cried Tom; “house blown down?”
“One of the big elms on the green for certain. Hark!”
Tom was hearkening, for directly after there was another crash, and another.
“No doubt about it,” said Uncle Richard. “One has struck the other, and the great elms have gone down like skittles.”
“There goes another,” cried Tom, as there was a fresh crash, which sounded louder than either of those which preceded it. “But I don’t want our observatory to go, uncle. You put the light down on the other side, where it’ll be sheltered from the wind, and I’ll get out into the gallery and try if I can drag the shutter over, and then we must nail it in its place.”