Painted Windows | Page 9

dress skirt, held it tight about my head, and
lay flat upon the ground.
It seemed as if a long time passed, a time in which I knew very little
ex- cept that I was fighting for my breath as I never had fought for
anything. There were more hurts and bruises now, but they did not
matter. Just to draw my own breath in my own way seemed to be the
only thing in the world that was of any account. And then there was a
shaft of flame, an ear- splitting roar, and the rain was upon us in sheets,
in streams, in visible riv- ers.

I imagined that it would last a long time, and wondered in a daze how I
could get home in a rain like that -- for I should have to face it. I could
see that in a few seconds the gutters had begun to race, the road where I
lay was a stream, and then -- then the rain ceased. Never was anything
so astonishing. The sky came out blue, tattered rags of cloud raced
across it, and I had time to conclude that, whip- ped and almost
breathless though I was, I was still alive.
And then I saw a curious sight. Down the street in every direction came
rush- ing hatless men and women. Here and there a wild-eyed horse
was being lashed along. All the town was coming. They were in their
work clothes, in their slippers, in their wrappers -- they were in
anything and everything. Some of them sobbed as they ran, some called
aloud names that I knew. They were fathers and mothers looking for
their children.
And who was that -- that woman with a white face, with hair falling
about her shoulders, where it had fallen as she ran -- that woman whose
breath came between her teeth strangely and who called my name over
and over, bleat- ingly, as a mother sheep calls its lamb? At first I did
not recognise her, and then, at last, I knew. And that creature with the
rolling eyes and the curious ash-coloured face who, mumbling some-
thing over and over in his throat, came for me, and snatched me up and
wiped my face free of mud, and felt of me here and there with
trembling hands -- who was he?
And breaking out of the crowd of men who had come running from the
street of stores and offices, was an- other strange being, with a sort of
bat- tle light in his eyes, who, seeing me, gathered me to him and bore
me away toward home. Looking back, I could see the woman I knew
following, lean- ing on the arm of the boy with the roll- ing eyes,
whose eyes had ceased to roll, and who was quite recognisable now as
Toot.
A happiness that was almost as ter- rible as sorrow welled up in my
heart. I did not weep, or laugh, or talk. All I had experienced had
carried me be- yond mere excitement into exultation. I exulted in life,
in love. My conceit and sulkiness died in that storm, as did many

another thing. I was alive. I was loved. I said it over and over to myself
silently, in "my heart's deep core," while mother washed me with
trembling hands in my own dear room, bound up my hurts, braided my
hair, and put me, in a fresh night-dress, into my bed. I do not recall that
we talked to each other, but in every caress of her hands as she worked
I felt the un- spoken assurances of a love such as I had not dreamed of.
Father had gone running back to the school to see if he could be of any
as- sistance to his neighbours, and had taken Toot with him, but they
were back presently to say that beyond a few sharp injuries and broken
bones, no harm had been done to the children. It was considered
miraculous that no one had been killed or seriously injured, and I
noticed that father's voice trem- bled as he told of it, and that mother
could not answer, and that Toot sobbed like a big silly boy.
Then as we talked together, behold, a second storm was upon us -- a
sharp black blast of wind and rain, not ter- rifying, like the other, but
with an "I've-come-to-spend-the-day" sort of aspect.
But no one seemed to mind very much. I was carried down to the sit-
ting-room. Toot busied himself com- ing and going on this errand and
on that, fastening the doors, closing the windows, running out to see to
the ani- mals, and coming back again. Father and mother set the table.
They kept close