Where the buffalo roam,
And the deer and the antelope ..."
The word "play" never came. The music stopped as if someone had turned it off. At the same instant the kitchen went black as a foxhole.
A strange, cold terror entered the house. For a long moment everyone stood frozen. Then Grandma spoke in her gayest voice, which somehow didn't sound gay at all. "We'll just eat our supper by candlelight. It'll be like a party."
She found the flashlight on the shelf over the sink, and pointed its beam inside a catch-all drawer. "I got some candles in here somewheres," she said, poking in among old party favors and odds and ends of Christmas wrappings.
Grandpa struck a match and held it ready. "Yer Grandma looks like Skipper diggin' up an old bone. Dag-bite-it!" he exclaimed. "I'm burnin' my fingers." The match sputtered and died of itself.
"I'm 'shamed to say," Grandma finally admitted, "but I recomember now, I gave my old candles to the family that moved in on Gravel Basket Road. They hadn't any electric in the house. What's more, I loaned 'em our lantern."
Grandpa's voice was quick and stern. "Paul! You drive my pickup over to Barrett's Store and get us a gallon of coal oil. Maureen, you crunch up some newspaper to—"
"Clarence!" Grandma was shocked. "Paul's not old enough to drive, and hark to that wind."
"Idy, this here's an emergency. I'm the onliest one knows jes' where in the attic to put my hand on the old ship's lantern off'n the Alberta. Besides, Barrett's is jes' up Rattlesnake Ridge, as fer as a hen can spit."