The cookhouse roof had been blown off and placed
over the poppies, where it had sheltered them from every
hailstone.
Pearl looked under the roof. The poppies stood there
straight and beautiful, no doubt wondering what big thing
it was that hid them from the sun.
When Tom and his father went out in the early dawn to
investigate the damage done by the storm, they found that
only a narrow strip through the field in front of the
house had been touched.
The hail had played a strange trick; beating down the
grain along this narrow path, just as if a mighty roller
had come through it, until it reached the house, on the
other side of which not one trace of damage could be
found.
"Didn't we get off lucky?" Tom exclaimed "and the rest
of the grain is not even lodged. Why, twenty-five dollars
would cover the whole loss, cookhouse roof and all."
His father was looking over the rippling field, green-gold
in the rosy dawn. He started uncomfortably at Tom's words.
Twenty-five dollars!
CHAPTER XV
INASMUCH
After sundown one night Pearl's resolve was carried into
action. She picked a shoe-box full of poppies, wrapping
the stems carefully in wet newspaper. She put the cover
on, and wrapped the box neatly.
Then she wrote the address. She wrote it painfully,
laboriously, in round blocky letters. Pearl always put
her tongue out when she was doing anything that required
minute attention. She was so anxious to have the address
just right that her tongue was almost around to her ear.
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