There it was, a murky green and black boiling centre in the sky, and shooting down from it, trailing over the earth, something like a long twisting finger—
An instant's vision of it. Then there came a deluge of rain, beating on the sloping roof. Through the streaming window nothing could be seen. The doctor raised Mary and led her down the stair, she clung to him without a word. On the second floor they found Mrs. Lowell, about to mount in search of them, trembling with fright.
"It's all over, Mother," shouted the doctor through the drumming of the rain. "We only got the edge of it."
They went down to the lower floor. Now it was perceptibly lighter. The cloud fringe sweeping like a huge broom was passing as swiftly as it had come. The rain lessened in force, the grey outside brightened. The doctor and his wife looked at one another, and both looked at Mary, who stood beside a window staring out.
"Now, Mother," said Dr. Lowell briskly, "you get me a sandwich or something, I've got to start out. Mary! help your mother, will you? You might as well fill up a basket, as quick as you can—put in anything you've got, in five minutes—don't know how long I may be—"
He was already fastening his rubber coat, his old hat jammed down on his head. Mary followed her mother, blindly obeying her quick directions in the kitchen. The basket was packed by the time the doctor came out with his medicine-chest and a big roll of surgical dressings.
"Where you going?" Mrs. Lowell then demanded.
"There'll be some damage where that thing struck," said the doctor cheerfully. "I'm going over there. Don't you sit up for me, I may be all night. You better keep Mary here, till Laurence comes for her."