of cold and wet.  He could not assure himself he had not imagined it all.  Thus, belated, he came to thinking of her again, and having now nothing else to do, he fell into daydreams that had no other effect than to reveal to him the impatience which had been, from the first, the real cause of his restlessness under the temporary confinement.  Now the impatience grew in intensity.  He resolved that if the morrow did not end the storm, he would tramp down the gulch to make a call.  All this time Aliris lay quite untouched.

The next day dawned darker than ever.  After breakfast Old Mizzou, as usual, went out to feed the horses, and Bennington, through sheer idleness, accompanied him.  They distributed the oats and hay, and then stood, sheltered from the direct rain, conversing idly.

Suddenly the wind died and the rain ceased.  In the place of the gloom succeeded a strange sulphur-yellow glare which lay on the spirit with almost physical oppression.  Old Mizzou shouted something, and scrambled excitedly to the house.  Bennington looked about him bewildered.

Over back of the hill, dimly discernible through the trees, loomed the black irregular shape of a cloud, in dismal contrast to the yellow glare which now filled all the sky.  The horses, frightened, crowded up close to Bennington, trying to push their noses over his shoulder.  A number of jays and finches rushed down through the woods and darted rapidly, each with its peculiar flight, toward a clump of trees and bushes standing on a ridge across the valley.

From the cabin Old Mizzou was shouting to him.  He turned to follow the old man.  Back of him something vast and awful roared out, and then all at once he felt himself struggling with a rush of waters.  He was jammed violently against the posts of the corral.  There he worked to his feet.

The whole side of the hill was one vast spread of shallow tossing water, as though a lake had been let fall on the summit of the ridge.  The smaller bushes were uprooted and swept along, but the trees and saplings held their own.

In a moment the stones and ridgelets began to show.  It was over.  Not a drop of rain had fallen.

Bennington climbed the corral fence and walked slowly to the house.  The blacksmith shop was filled to the window, and Arthur’s cabin was not much better.  He entered the kitchen.  The floor there was some two inches submerged, but the water was slowly escaping through the down-hill door by which Bennington had come in.  Across the dining-room door Mrs. Arthur had laid a folded rug.  In front of the barrier stood the lady herself, vigorously sweeping back the threatening water from her only glorious apartment.

Bennington took the broom from her and swept until the cessation of the flood made it no longer necessary.  Mrs. Arthur commenced to mop the floor.  The young man stepped outside.  There he was joined a moment later by the other two.