"Laurence is over at Elmville," said Mary languidly. "I'm afraid he'll get caught in the storm. How dark it's getting."
She looked out at the low cloud that thickened momently and that now was clotting into black masses against a greenish grey. The rattle of the doctor's old buggy was heard approaching; he drove rapidly in past the house. His horse was sweating heavily and flecked with foam. They caught a glimpse of his pale face as he passed.
"Thank goodness," murmured Mrs. Lowell. "Perhaps we'd better go in."
But she remained, gazing at the clouds. A few people went by, more hurriedly than usual. It was almost dark now, a strange twilight. Mary left the hammock and came to look up at the sky. Up there were masses of cloud in tumult, but down below not a breath of air stirred.
"How queer it looks—I wish Laurence was home. He starts about this time," she said uneasily.
"Oh, he'll wait till it's over.... I wonder why your father doesn't come in...."
Mary turned and entered the house, but the doctor was not there, and she went on out into the garden. At the door of the stable she saw the horse hitched, he had not been unharnessed. Dr. Lowell stood there, looking up. She went quickly along the path to him.
"Say, Mary, this looks mighty queer. We're going to have a big wind," he called to her. "You better go in."
"Well, why don't you come in? Aren't you going to unhitch?"
"I suppose so," he said with a worried glance. "Satan acted like the very deuce on the way home—"