“Did you get a message to that effect?” I demanded in a voice which must have surprised him.

“No, the wires are down between here and Oak Cliff, but a man came by here an hour ago who said it went through the village.”

“Did it strike the Oak Cliff club house?” I asked.

“He didn’t say,” replied the operator, and then the instrument demanded his attention.

“These reports are always exaggerated,” I assured Miss Harding.  “Besides the club house is of stone, and it is protected by a hill to the west.  Do not be in the least alarmed.”

“We can only hope and wait,” she softly said.

We heartily thanked Peterson and watched him as he disappeared in the darkness, tramping stolidly in the face of a driving rain.

Despite the rain it was warm and we sat on a bench under the broad roof of the platform.  I did my best to take her mind away from the dread which possessed her, but it was a wretched hour for both of us.  Then we saw the flicker of lights down the track, and toward us came a small army of labourers who had been clearing the roadbed between us and Woodvale.

They stopped a minute in front of the station.  These hardy Italians stood in the drenching rain, axes in their hands or over their shoulders, their clothes smeared with mud, water running in streams from the rims of their broad hats; there they stood and laughed, chattered, jested and indulged in rough play while their foreman received his instructions from the telegraph operator.  And then with a cheer and a song they started on their way to Oak Cliff.  Happiness and contentment are gifts; they cannot be purchased.

Something to the south burned a widening circle in the mist and rain, and from its centre we made out the headlight of a locomotive.  It was a passenger train, and as it crawled cautiously to the platform two men leaped from it and came toward us.

I recognised Carter and Chilvers.

They had heard of the tornado and had constituted themselves a searching party.

“Naturally your mother is alarmed,” said Carter “but I assured her that it was nothing more serious than delayed trains.  She knows nothing of the tornado.”

We were informed that the up train would be held on a sidetrack until the one from Oak Cliff got through.  There was nothing to do but wait.  It was past midnight when we heard the blast of a whistle to the north, and when the train from Oak Cliff pulled in Mr. Harding was the first one to swing to the station platform.

“Well, well, well!” he exclaimed, releasing his daughter’s arms from his neck, holding her at arm’s length and then kissing her again.  “Is this the way you call for me at four o’clock?  Where’s Smith?  Hello, Smith!  Where’s the red buzz wagon?”

“Over there,” I said.

And then we all talked at once.  Chilvers danced a clog-step to the delight of the grinning trainmen, Carter removed his monocle and polished it innumerable times, Miss Harding laughed and cried by turns, Mr. Harding dug cigars from pockets which seemed inexhaustible, and gave them to the railroad men, and I furiously smoked a pipe and put in a word whenever I had a chance.  It was an informal and glorious reunion.