“I’ll add a few lines to your letter,” Tom said. “Dad will be glad to know we’ve lined up a lot of ads for our first issue.”
Doctor Stevens came out of his office and joined them in their walk home.
“How are all the storm victims?” asked Helen.
“Getting along fine,” said the doctor. “I can’t understand why there weren’t more serious injuries. The storm was terrific.”
“Perhaps it is because most of them heard it coming and sought shelter in the strongest buildings or took refuge in cellars,” suggested Tom.
“I suppose that’s the explanation.”
“I’ll finish my school stories tomorrow afternoon,” promised Margaret as she turned toward her home.
The twilight hour was the one that Helen liked best of all the busy hours of her day. From the porch she could look down at the long, deep-blue stretch of water that was Lake Dubar while a liquid-gold sun settled into the western hills. Purple shadows in the little valleys bordering the lake, lights gleaming from farm house windows on far away hills, the mellow chime of a freight train whistling for a crossing and over all a pervading calmness that overcame any feeling of fatigue and brought only a feeling of rest and quiet to Helen. It was hard to believe that a little more than 24 hours before this peaceful scene had been threatened with total destruction by the fury of the elements.
Helen’s mother called and the Herald editor went into the dining room. Tom, his hands scrubbed clean of printer’s ink, was at the table when Helen took her place.
Mrs. Blair bowed her head in silent prayer and Tom and Helen did likewise.