Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1899-11-30
like hers. And all this time the cloud

much like puff of black smoke now.
and there were others, not 80 dark,
climbing up Ieside it.
The dishes were finished and put
away in the kitchen ''safe," or cup
board, and the girl sat down by her
window--she was very fond OF that
window in those days and gazsd ab-
sently out. The landscape was left
desolate to her, for Albre bit had dis.
appeared, probably to attire himself
for his outing.
Her father nodded in the shady
doorway over his long, curved pipe.
In the inner room her mother dis.
coursed volubly to her second daugh.
ter in her native tongue, which is
never forgotten by the "old people,
at least. The shouts Of the numerous
younger children came from without,
whore they romped among the farm
wagons and machinery, and the horses
and cattle grazed contentedly on the
fenced-in prairie that formed the pas
ture. 1t was all homely, but pea eful,
and presently the girls eyes, heavy
with unaccustomed vigils, closed. She
did not see the cloud rapidly swelling
and taking on the ominous shape
dreaded by the prairie dwellers, the
so-called funnel form, which in this
case was much fattened one.
It seemed but few minutes later
when Vlasta reused abruptly in dazed
bewilderment. A distant shout, one
of alarm and warning, seemed echo.
ing in her ear. How dark it had grown.
And there were Albrecht and his little
old mother, who kept his house, stand
ing before their door, exclaiming and
gesticulating wildly. At the same mo.
ment there came rush of furious
wind, bringing the sound of low,
menacing roar, while the mass Of
dusky green cloud seemed to quit the
horizon and start swiftly on an earth
ward path.
Vlasta guessed instantly the peril
that threatened, and sprang up with a
terrified cry.
'My father. mother, quick! The
cyclone! The cyclone!'
Then followed wild confusion,
screaming children running to their
parents, frantic exclamations, hustle
and hurry.
Whittier should hey fly for refuge
in that hour of terri or? 1t was the
good mother that solved the problem
with prompt presence of mind.
''The henhouse, children! Let us
run to the henhouse!' she cried, and
she crowded her stout self and her
best feather bed, brought from the
fatherland, valiantly through the mar
row doorway, followed by her husband
carrying his pipe and armchair, and
by the others with whatever they
chanced to catch up, all racing through
the thick whirling dust to the desig
mated place of refuge.
In fact, it was the most suitable one
within their reach, being really low
''dug- g-out" in the side of small hill,
the front or oren side facing south
and filed in with sod wall, contain.
ing only small, rough door and
tiny window, whose four small panes
were thickly coated with dust
In they rushed pell nell, causing
wild discomfort to the usual occupants
of this abode, which flew futtering
and cackling wildly from their rude
nests and perches. The father was in
the act of closing the door after the
last one was in, when it was pushed
violently open from without, and
Albrecht and his mother, lacking such
a shelter of their own, flung them
selves among them.
Then the door, like that of the ark,
was shut and braced by the fathers
stout shoulder. And none to soon, for
the air was thick with flying del ris.
There were twelve of them-more
souls than the ark carried, and crowd
ed into much smaller space, but that
mattered little at such time.
The fowl screamed, the children
walled, the big mother and little mother
rocked and prayed in each others
arms, and the father bemoaned his
farm d stock; but as for Vlasta, the
cyclone had given her what the fates
and danger were all dominated by the
Joy that Albrecht was again beside
her, so c'ose that she could almost
feel his deep, hurried breathing.
1t was hut moment, and then, with
q deafening roar, a rush of darkness,
choking breath of sulphur, the
orm centre was upon them.
Vlasta remembered not how it hap
pened. but when she was able to real-
lze anything her arms were around
Albrecht's neck and he was holding
her to him and murmuring words of
endearment, which she felt rather
than heard. ''My love, my little
one"-though she was as tall as he
'do not fear. I will keep thee safe
], thine own beloved"
Vlasta's pet white pullet fluttered
on their shoulders like the white
winged dove of peace. The storm
went swiftly on its resistless way,
leaving desolation behind.
Their houses were in ruins; their
little possessions torn to pieces or
scattered far and wide, even a large