There were traces of the storm everywhere. Trees that had stood isolated
in the fields lay, some of them, with roots exposed; others were broken
off at the trunk, left with only a branch or two, helpless figures with
outstretched arms, to give a weird desolation to the landscape by and by,
I thought with a shudder, when winter should come again to Wallencamp.
The fences--what remained of them from former depredations--had either
fallen utterly to the ground, or assumed a strikingly precarious
position.
Part of the roof of Mr. Randal's house had been blown off, and the
chimneys of several of the Wallencamp houses demolished, and Grandpa's
barn twisted and distorted almost beyond recognition.
That poor old gentleman put on his hat and stepped out of the door
cautiously, looking about him like one in a dream.
The Ark had stood firm, apparently, in its old resting-place. Grandma and
Madeline proceeded to sweep out the rain which had been driven in through
the cracks, and then it was that little Henry G. came running, with a
white face, to the door. He had an air of childish importance, too, as
being the first to bear tidings of some strange and dreadful event, and
eager to hasten to other doors.
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