The heat of the summer was terrible.
The sun came up in that blue sky like a
curse, and hung there till night came to
comfort the blistering earth. And one
morning a terrible thing happened. Annie
was standing out of doors in the shade of
those miserable little oaks, ironing, when
suddenly a blast of air struck her in the
face, which made her look up startled. For
a moment she thought, perhaps, there was
a fire near in the grass. But there was none.
Another blast came, hotter this time, and
fifteen minutes later that wind was sweep-
ing straight across the plain, burning and
blasting. Annie went in the house to finish
her ironing, and was working there, when
she heard Jim's footstep on the door-sill.
He could not pale because of the tan, but
there was a look of agony and of anger --
almost brutish anger -- in his eyes. Then
he looked, for a moment, at Annie standing
there working patiently, and rocking the
little crib with one foot, and he sat down on
the door-step and buried his face in his
brown arms.

The wind blew for three days. At the
end of that time every ear was withered in
the stalk. The corn crop was ruined.