Jane Curtin

It began to grow dark, and suddenly realizing the situation, she got up hurriedly and went about closing windows and doors.

Out on the small front gallery, she had hung Bobineau's Sunday clothes to air, and she hastened out to gather them before the rain fell.

As she stepped outside, Alcide Laballiere rode in at the gate.

She had not seen him very often since her marriage, and never alone.

She stood there with Bobineau's coat in her hands, and the big raindrops began to fall.

Alcy rode his horse under the shelter of a side projection where the chickens had huddled, and there were plows and a harrow piled up in the corner.

"'May I come and wait on your gallery till the storm is over, Calixta?'

he asked.

"'Come long in, Monsieur Alcy.'

His voice and her own startled her as if from a trance, and she seized Bobineau's vest."

Alcide, mounting to the porch, grabbed the trousers and snatched Bebe's braided jacket that was about to be carried away by a sudden gust of wind.

He expressed an intention to remain outside, but it was soon apparent that he might as well have been out in the open.

The water beat in upon the boards and driving sheets, and he went inside, closing the door after him.

It was even necessary to put something beneath the door to keep the water out.

My, what a rain.

It's good two years since it rained like that, exclaimed Calixta as she rolled up a piece of bagging, and Alcy helped her to thrust it beneath the crack.

She was a little fuller of figure than five years before when she married, but she had lost nothing of her vivacity.

Her blue eyes still retained their melting quality, and her yellow hair, disheveled by the wind and rain, kinked more stubbornly than ever about her ears and temples.

The rain beat upon the low shingled roof with a force and clatter that threatened to break an entrance and deluge them there.

They were in the dining room, the sitting room, the general utility room.