Jane Curtin

The leaves were so still that even Bebe thought it was going to rain.

Bobineau, who was accustomed to converse on terms of perfect equality with his little son, called the child's attention to certain somber clouds that were rolling with sinister intention from the west, accompanied by a sullen, threatening roar.

They were at Friedheimer's store and decided to remain there till the storm had passed.

They sat within the door on two empty kegs.

B.B.

was four years old and looked very wise.

"'Mama'll be frayed, yes,' he suggested with blinking eyes."

She'll shut the house.

Maybe she got Sylvie helping her this evening, Bobineau responded reassuringly.

No, she ain't got Sylvie.

Sylvie was helping her yesterday, piped Bebe.

Bobineau arose and, going across to the counter, purchased a can of shrimps, of which Calixto was very fond.

Then he returned to his perch on the keg and sat stolidly holding the can of shrimps while the storm burst.

It shook the wooden store and seemed to be ripping great furrows in the distant field.

Beebe laid his little hand on his father's knee and was not afraid.

Calixta at home felt no uneasiness for their safety.

She sat at a side window sewing furiously on a sewing machine.

She was greatly occupied and did not notice the approaching storm.

But she felt very warm and often stopped to mop her face on which the perspiration gathered in beads.

She unfastened her white sack at the throat.