“That’s not as romantic as gathering and writing news,” said Margaret.
“But just as important,” insisted Tom.
The room darkened and a particularly heavy gust of wind shook the house. From the west came a low rumbling.
Tom dropped his knife and fork and went to the front porch.
“Come here, Helen!” he cried. “The storm’s breaking. You’re going to have your first big story right now!”
CHAPTER IV
Through the Storm
Tom’s cry brought the others from the dinner table to the screened-in porch which overlooked the lake. He was right. The storm was roaring down out of the hills in the west in all its fury.
The black clouds which had been rolling along the horizon when Tom and Helen had come home were massed in a solid, angry front. Driven by a whistling wind, they were sweeping down on the lake. An ominous fringe of yellow wind clouds dashed on ahead and as they reached the porch they saw the waters of Lake Dubar whiten before the fury of the wind.
“Looks like a twister,” shouted Tom.
His mother’s face whitened and she anxiously scanned the sky.