The two girls cuddled together and shut their eyes, but Jean and Greta stood together, looking out, and Greta whispered, “The good God can save us if it is best.” Not in vain had Greta read that German Bible.
Crash went a tree, just hitting the sleeping porch, and the little house shook. But the worst of the storm had passed them by in a few minutes from the time they heard the roaring sound, so rapidly was the work of destruction done. It was wind rather than lightning which had been the greatest menace. Pouring rain continued for some time,--and then the sun came out!
“Now is the time to be thankful, girls,” said Grace, “but I hope that the boys are all right. If I’m not mistaken, some cyclone went by us and we’ll hear of damage done by it.”
Uneasily, the girls went about opening windows, looking out to see what damage had been done to the sleeping porch, or going out into their cleared dooryard to see if their prettiest trees had suffered. Branches lay on the ground, whipped from the trees. It was a small elm that had hit the porch. “Girls, if that tree hadn’t been actually _lifted_ by the wind, I don’t believe it could have reached us,” said Jean. “My father said that they particularly tried to see that no tree could hit us if a storm felled it, no big one, I mean. We have shade enough as it is.”
The girls stood looking about. “I’m glad that the boys built their shack in a pretty well cleared place, too,” said Nan, who could scarcely help worrying about Jimmy. Greta was thinking of home and the children. They were often rude to her, in the atmosphere of scolding and criticism which made Greta’s life wretched. But they also depended upon her for a great deal and occasionally, when away from their mother’s disapproval, showed her a little affection, especially the youngest child.
Still excited by the character of the storm, the girls ran around in the wet woods near by. They found the tree which had been struck by lightning before Nan, Jean and Greta had gone into the house and they were startled to find how near it had been. But when they looked across the lake, beyond the camp’s small bay and where the woods stretched toward Greta’s home, they saw the most damage. Trees lay prostrate near the shore. Branches and drift tossed upon the still active waves. “I must hurry home at once,” said Greta. “The storm has gone that way.”