But after a time the game grew fast and furious, and the moon went quite out of sight, as bigger winds joined in with bigger and bigger pillows—not downy white ones, but gray puffs, like rolls of smoke.
Low in the northwest a sullen mass of black lifted itself slowly, and one could see the head of old Father Wind rising out of his blankets. Taller and taller he grew, his long hair sweeping away in coils and spirals, that whipped uncannily off his head only to let other locks grow in their places. A giant he grew, with a bag on his back, and his blankets rolling up around him, dark and awful. He would give those Little Winds, who had waked him up, something to blow about.
Up and up he rose, leaving behind him a weird yellow counterpane stretched out along the line of hills. Lightnings flashed from his eyes, and his voice boomed like great guns.
The Little Winds and the Bigger Winds gave up their game, and scuttled off before the growing fury, as old Father Wind pulled handfuls of real wind out of his bag and threw them about. Soon his blankets, gray and ragged, unfolded and rushed up the sky, and the Little Winds disappeared altogether.
Then Father Wind had it all his own way, and he worked himself into a towering rage. Snake-like flashes of flame dripped from his finger-tips, darting back and forth till the whole sky was lighted up like a great furnace. Up rolled the blankets, one after the other, until one could see only a whirling, tumbling mass. On, on! The far hill-line was blotted out, and the sleeping town was drowned in a boiling, seething chaos of cloud, wind, and falling water.
Up the hill rushed Father Wind, now a vast, formless destroyer. He reached out his long arms, blew a great breath, and the first blast struck the hilltop where stood the solid buildings of the Hospital.
Rip-boom-bang! The house shook to its very foundations. Could it stand that awful onslaught? Betsy saw a great tree on the lawn snap like a twig, and with some fibers still clinging to the trunk, stretch its arms helplessly along the path of the wind. Leaves by thousands twisted off and flew like fear-driven goblins. A board from no-one-knew-where came up the hillside and struck the honeysuckle porch, tearing the vines till they floated out like green ribbons.
Every one in the house was awake now, rushing around to see if the doors and windows were safe.
Mrs. Johns came into Betsy’s room.
“Are you all right, dearie?”