"And that is so far away, and so hard to reach!" said Philip, forgetting in an instant the day and all pertaining to it.
XXIII—AFTER THE STORM
SOON after sunrise on the morning after the cyclone, Claybanks began to fill with horror-seekers and rumor-mongers from the outer world; but most of the natives were invisible, for they had worked and talked far into the night. It seemed to the Somertons that they had not slept an hour when they were roused by heavy knocking at the door; then they were amazed to find the sun quite high. The man who had done the knocking handed Philip a telegram, brought from the railway station, an hour distant. It was from New York, and read as follows:—
"Back yesterday. Good as new. English business well started. Cyclone in New York papers this morning. Please don't abuse the Maker of it. Look out for His children. Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place. Do you want anything from here? Answer. If not, I start West at once.
"Caleb."
"'Tis evident he hasn't given up his habit of early rising," said Philip, as he gave the despatch to his wife. When she had read it, Grace said:—
"Dear Caleb! His return is absolutely providential, and his despatch is very like him."
"I'm not quite sure of that," Philip replied, shaking his head doubtingly, yet smiling under his mustache. "To be entirely like Caleb, it should have said that the cyclone was a means of grace."