bacchanals, whirling, swaying, tossing their long arms in futile agony,
as though possessed by some unseen demoniacal power.

In a moment the old man knew what had befallen him. The bewitched smoke,
the shrieking spirits of the air, the motionless valley, and the
maddened trees, of all these he had heard before, for he had listened to
tales of the tornado in the valley, and knew what it meant to the
defenceless dwellers on the upper slopes. The skirts of the fury were
touching him even now; a sudden gust swept by; to draw breath for the
moment was impossible, and his unsteady balance would soon have been
overthrown; he was forced to cling to the doorpost, still holding the
baby close. But the quiet, comprehending expression never left his face;
he knew what was to be done, and he meant to do it; there might be time.

He set down the baby in the cradle, took off his coat, grasped a spade
in his shaking hand, and hobbled across the patch of open ground to a
spot as far distant as possible both from the cottage and from the
borders of the wood; the maddened wind was wailing itself away in the
distance, and happily for a few minutes there was a lull in the air. He
could hear the baby crying, left alone in the cottage. He never looked
off from his work, but went on digging a hole in the form of a little
grave. The surface of the ground was hard, and the old man was
short-winded; he could hardly gather enough force to drive the spade in.
Before long, however, a few inches of the upper crust were removed from
a space about three feet in length. The digging in the softer earth
would now be easier and more rapid. As he worked on, a few heavy drops
of rain fell. He looked up and saw the whole sky, lately full of
sunlight, a mass of driving, ink-black clouds, while the shriek of the
hurricane was heard again in the distance. The baby's cry was drowned by
it. The hole was as yet only half a foot deep. At the next thrust the