At least he meant to do this, but in ten minutes or so the sound of the wind had lulled him to sleep, and he did not open his eyes again till morning, to find the storm dropped and the sun shining brightly.
Chapter Forty Eight.
“Them four lights from the cowcumber frames, Master Tom, lifted off, carried eight-and-forty foot, dashed down and smashed, so as there arn’t a single whole pane o’ glass left.”
“That’s a bad job, David,” said Tom, as he stood looking about him at the ruin caused by the hurricane; “but the telescope is all right.”
“Yer can’t grow cowcumbers with tallow-scoops, Master Tom. The first thing I see as soon as I goes into the little vinery there was two big slates off the top o’ the house, blowed off like leaves, to go right through the glass, and there they was sticking up edgeways in the vine border.”
“Well, only a job for the glazier,” said Tom.
“Strikes me there won’t be glass enough left in the village to do all the mending. Mrs Bray’s front window was blowed right in, and all the sucker and lollypop glasses knocked into a mash o’ glass splinters and stick. There’s a limb off the baking pear-tree; lots o’ branches teared loose from the walls; a big bit snapped off the cedar, and that there arby whitey blowed right sidewise. It’s enough to make a gardener as has any respect for himself break his ’art.”
“Never mind, David; I’ll come out and help you try to put things straight.”