again, and emerged with his precious charge into the roaring hurricane.
Across the barren mountain slope, far above the ken of any fellow-being,
in the teeth of death, the old man crept with the sleeping babe. Another
threatening of the deluge of rain, which would surely accompany the
tornado, added to the misery of the painful journey; the sudden downpour
of heavy drops drenched the grandfather to the skin, but the grandchild
was protected under the sacking.

They reached the hole at length, and raising himself to his knees, the
wind being somewhat less boisterous while the rain was falling, the old
man clutched the heavily-weighted cradle in both arms, and attempted to
force it into the haven of safety he had spent his strength in forming.
Alas! there was not room. The cradle was wider across than he had
calculated. To take the child out and place it with the bedding in the
hole would be leaving it to drown. Should the expected deluge descend,
the trench he had dug would but form a reservoir for water. He seized
the shovel, working it as well as he could without a handle, and
attempted to break down and widen the edges. Pushing, stamping, driving
with his make-shift spade, now clutching at the edges with his fingers
and loosening the stones, now forcing them in with his heel, he
succeeded in working through the hard upper surface; then breathless,
dizzy, spent, with hands that could scarce grasp the shovel, and
stumbling feet that each moment threatened to fail him, he spaded out
the softer earth below and scraped and tore at the sides, till the hole
was wide enough to contain the cradle, and deep enough to ensure its
safety.

The last shovelful was raised, and the old man was stooping down to lift
the cradle in, when the wildest war-cry yet uttered by the raging
elements rang round the mountain side; all the former blasts seemed to