Shingles were dislodged from the roof of the house, and huge hailstones pelted in and put the fire out, and split the table, and fell on the sofa and the beds.

Rain fell also, but we did n't catch any in the cask--the wind blew the spout away. It was a curled piece of bark. Nevertheless, the storm did good. We did n't lose ALL the potatoes. We got SOME out of them. We had them for dinner one Sunday.

It had been a dull, miserable day, and a cold westerly was blowing. Dave and Joe were at the barn finishing up for the day.

Dad was inside grunting and groaning with toothache. He had had it a week, and was nearly mad. For a while he sat by the fire, prodding the tooth with his pocket-knife; then he covered his jaw with his hand and went out and walked about the yard.

Joe asked him if he had seen Nell's foal anywhere that day. He did n't answer.

"Did y' see the brown foal any place ter-day, Dad?"

"Damn the brown foal!"--and Dad went inside again.

He walked round and round the table and in and out the back room till Mother nearly cried with pity.

(Editor：internet)