The roar grew less and less and at last ceased altogether,
and only a gentle rain was falling.
Sam Motherwell sat without speaking, "You have cheated
the Lord all these years, and He has borne with you,
trying to make you pay up without harsh proceedings"--he
found himself repeating the minister's words. Could this
be what he meant by harsh proceedings? Certainly it was
harsh enough taking away a man's crop after all his hard
work.
Sam was full of self-pity. There were very few men who
had ever been treated as badly as he felt himself to be.
"Maybe there'll only be a streak of it hailed out," Tom
said, breaking in on his father's dismal thoughts.
"You'll see in the mornin'," his father growled, and Tom
went back to bed.
When Pearl woke it was with the wind blowing in upon her;
the morning breeze fragrant with the sweetness of the
flowers and the ripening grain. The musty odours had all
gone, and she felt life and health in every breath. The
blackbirds were twittering in the oats behind the house,
and the rising sun was throwing long shadows over the
field. Scattered glass lay on the floor.
"I knew the dear Lord would fix the gurms," Pearl said
as she dressed, laughing to herself. But her face clouded
in a moment. What about the poppies?
Then she laughed again. "There I go frettin' again. I
guess the Lord knows they're, there and He isn't going
to smash them if Polly really needs them."
She dressed herself hastily and ran down the ladder and
around behind the cookhouse, where a strange sight met
her eyes.
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