The Post Mistress turned the card over and over.
"It's from Jonathan, Cyclona's father," she chuckled. "Of all the people in the world! It is post-marked Texas."
"So that's where they blew to! It's to Cyclona, but everybody will be dying to know what it says. Listen:
"'Dear Cyclona:—
"'I think you will be glad to hear that this cyclone was good to us, blowin' us 'way down here in Texas, where the weather is so fine. It saved me the trouble, too, of bothering with the roof. It blew it right side up and the clothes are all down in the room now.'"
"'Your affectionate father,'"
"'Jonathan.'"
"'P.S.—I like this part of the country better than I did Kansas. I think we will stay here, Cyclona.'"
"Until another cyclone comes along," the Professor commented, "and blows him into the Gulf."
"I wonder," mused the Post Mistress, "if the cyclone put the clothes away in the presses when it took them down from the walls."